


Coffee Stains

by nanases_h



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comedy, Coming of Age, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Fourth of July, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Overprotective Brothers, Romance, Summer, Summer Romance, USUK-centric guys the others are just background pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-11-22 07:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11375682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanases_h/pseuds/nanases_h
Summary: Arthur is a sceptical 18-year-old who finds himself spending summer in the US. He questions the point of it all until he finds Trouble hanging on his window ledge for dear life.Soon, Trouble turns to Summer with sun-bleached hair, sky blue eyes, and laughter that carries the ocean breeze, and the two of them share intimacy out of loneliness. Misery loves company, after all. But what happens once summer ends? Are they meant to exist in each other’s lives only for one season?Follow Arthur and Alfred’s East Coast romance in four summers.





	1. The First Summer (i.)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always pictured Alfred and Arthur whenever I listen to Fall Out Boy’s ‘Fourth of July’, and I don’t think I’ve read anything based on it so I decided to create my own. Also, ages ago, I told myself I’m going to write a story with a happy ending. Rated ’T’ for now, but will definitely change to ‘E’ when the smut comes after a few chapters. ;)
> 
> Characters:  
> Allistor (Scotland), Ciaran (Northern Ireland), Gwil (Wales)  
> Ivo (Netherlands), Margaux (Belgium), Axel (Luxembourg), Héloïse (Monaco), Paolo (Portugal)  
> Let me know if I missed anyone.
> 
> Btw, I made a playlist if anyone’s interested: https://open.spotify.com/user/elliceium/playlist/46Zc7wE08nnereeCDLagIW

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

 

**i.**

 

When Arthur Kirkland thought of exciting summer adventures, he envisioned himself camping at the beach, island hopping, or kayaking across a tropical lagoon, and not finding Trouble clinging on to his window ledge for dear life. 

Backtracking a few minutes, he was watching the town and admiring the sunset outside his window. The peaceful early evening was filled with an explosion of colours— pastel pink, orange, and lilac melting into each other like paint unfurling in water. It was his favourite thing to do since arriving at their beach house yesterday. Cape Blue Fin was a far cry from their bustling area in Washington DC, and was proving to be East Coast’s finest gem. 

Despite nature exhibiting its effortless beauty in front of him, he found himself asking,  _ what’s the point? _ What was the point in all of this? Why was he in the States where he and his brothers would be spending summer separately from their father? Perhaps it was true when their father said he wanted to spend summer vacation with his sons. But that ‘vacation’ in the Hamptons lasted no longer than three days and his father promptly returned to DC, leaving Arthur to his three older brothers in their beach house four hours away. In a few weeks, Allistor would fly to London, and it would only be Ciaran, Gwil, and him for the rest of the summer. 

Maybe he was overthinking (he always was). He shouldn’t have had such expectations, and instead accepted the fact that no event could ever change his boring life. Hell, he could be anywhere and be bored with everything. Their house in London was too familiar. Schooling in DC ended in a disaster, which catapulted him back to England. 

He wished he had his brothers’ enthusiasm to appreciate his stay in America. Ciaran and Gwil loved living in this country. The only things they talked about were the brilliant university life in the Ivy League schools they were attending, or the lovely girls seeking them out, or the kinds of food they could never find in their home country. They were becoming more Americanized each day, and it was giving Arthur migraine. 

And existential crisis. Talks of university life reminded Arthur that he was eighteen and starting uni at the end of the summer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have enough imagination to pursue his studies abroad like his brothers. Suppose he started a punk band, preach anti-establishment, and tour around Europe instead? Maybe then, his life would take a turn and stop being monotonous, uneventful, and pointless.

He was too lost in his thoughts that he failed to spot a pair of hands at the edge of his open window. 

“Hey!” Someone hollered from outside. “Will you give me a hand?”

Arthur left his comfortable spot in the bed to locate the source of the voice. Blood rushed all over his body when he found a boy with windswept blond hair covering his sweaty face, and his fingertips red from gripping tightly on the window ledge. “The bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Jones! I know you’re out there!” Another voice called out, though its owner was nowhere to be seen. It resonated with violence and danger and could be heard several meters away.  

“C’mon just help me up!” Trouble pleaded in panic. His thick-framed glasses slightly slipped down the slope of his nose. 

“You can be a thief for all I know!” Arthur said at the same time he reached for Trouble’s hands and pulled him up so he could leap inside the window. 

“That’s not a bad first impression—!” Trouble’s banter was immediately cut off with a yelp when his right foot got caught on the ledge, and with Arthur, he crashed and fell to the bedroom floor.  

Arthur groaned in pain.  _ Bruises tomorrow! _ his brain alerted. He inhaled a sharp breath and tried to lift the massive weight of Trouble’s body from his chest. He failed. “That hurt! Blimey, you’re heavy!” 

Trouble’s face scrunched in shame and he immediately pushed himself to a sitting position. Making a ‘shh’ gesture to Arthur, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! But we should keep it down.” 

He waited for a threat to explode outdoors, and when it didn’t come, he whispered with excitement, “I haven’t seen you around here before! What’s your name?” 

Arthur crossed his legs and sat next to Trouble. He glared at him and was almost blinded. Backlit by the soft hues of sunset, Trouble’s face resembled a cover boy’s. Wide blue eyes shone behind those thick-framed glasses, like the cloudless sky in the morning. His dark golden hair glistened in the fading light. Despite his filthy, sweat-soaked, plain grey shirt clinging to his body, he smiled. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat and his cheeks burned as he remembered those magazines he collected in his preteens, showcasing people with perfect faces he wanked to. He snapped out of his thoughts, assuming he must have been gawking like an idiot. 

When Arthur agreed to spend summer in the States, he expected warm beach weather and some peace. He didn’t sign up for this. 

_ Knock, knock, knock, _ went his door, robbing him the chance to give his name. He mentally patted himself on the back for locking it. Thank heavens he’d spared himself from the awkward explanations. 

“Arthur, are you all right?” Gwil’s worried voice echoed outside his door. 

“Yes, er, m-my suitcase just fell over, nothing to worry about.” 

Pause. “Are you sure? Do you need some help?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“If you say so. Dinner’s ready in ten.” 

“Okay.” 

His brother’s retreating footsteps hinted he could finally release his breath. He wasn’t really thrilled about pizza and mozzarella sticks for dinner. Wine would be lovely, though the Kirkland household was theoretically devoid of any alcoholic drinks (Arthur had his suspicions that his brothers were hiding liquor somewhere in their own rooms and drinking in secret, but that was yet to be proven). 

Light played around Trouble’s face, and was reflected by his glasses. Even though he couldn’t see his eyes, it gave Arthur a feeling that Trouble was studying him. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” 

They both stiffened as the mocking voice rang closer and closer to Arthur’s house. Heavy footsteps stomped against sand. A baseball bat  _ thump, thump, thump _ ed against something soft, probably the palm of the holder. 

“Hey, I think he went over there!” Someone else yelled. Maybe he pointed to the opposite direction from the sound of the footsteps going further and further away. 

Feeling his heart climbing up his throat at every beat, Arthur sat paralysed.  _ Why are they looking for you? What have you done? _ He wanted to ask, but his mouth forgot how to function. 

Once the footsteps were out of earshot, Trouble stood beside the window, guarding it like a soldier on a dangerous mission. Arthur rose to his feet as well, taking caution not to be seen by Trouble’s pursuers, and found he was taller than the stranger by an inch. He must be around the same age. 

After a minute or so, Trouble let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall. He composed himself and gave Arthur a soldier’s salute and a wink, a grin brightening his face. 

“Hey, thanks for letting me in,” he said, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for the trouble. See you around!” 

And with that, he left the way he came, only he managed not to trip and fall this time. Arthur was alone in his room once more.  

* * *

“Ah, summer, the season of romance,” said Francis Bonnefoy, pushing his sunglasses against the bridge of his slightly bent nose. “The time of the year where beautiful people graced the world’s finest beaches and the season when I can grow a proper beard.”

Arthur almost missed the running drop of ice cream on his cone. “If my opinion has any value at all, I prefer that look on you. You rather look like a toddler without it.” 

Francis elbowed him in the rib. He tossed back his wavy, neck-length blond hair. It fell perfectly, framing his chiseled face, and giving him an image of a handsome medieval prince. “I see you’re finally developing a good sense of style.” 

Francis Bonnefoy was like Arthur in many ways, although they’d never admit their similarities out loud. Both of them loved insisting that one was better than the other. After Francis’s parents separated, he’d been living with his father, who— extreme patriotism aside— wanted his son to be fluent in English. And that was how Francis ended up pursuing his studies in the United States. 

Francis had improved tremendously since they first met about three years ago. Arthur could barely remember the time his French accent riddled his very limited English vocabulary because, at present, Francis spoke with a flawless American accent, enough for people to mistake him as a native speaker.

It seemed like all the people in town decided to visit the amusement park that day. Teenagers pranced around with their friends, gossiping about who was totally checking out who, and the adventures they were trying to accomplish by the end of the summer. Children with their happy families queued for milkshakes and candy floss. Merry go round to the left, ferris wheel to the right, tents and arcades blasting colours and sounds at every direction, overwhelming Arthur’s senses. 

He took the last bite of his strawberry-flavoured ice cream. He was tempted to take his Vans off and run to the other side of the beach where he could be by himself and enjoy the ocean breeze. Maybe he’d tag Francis along.  

Oftentimes, he felt more lost and alone when surrounded by crowds. Fortunately, Cape Blue Fin was where wealthy fathers like Arthur’s and Francis’s send their children for summer. He found it comforting to have at least one familiar person to annoy other than his brothers, which made life a little bit exciting when one was stuck in a rut. 

“So you’re going to DC for uni?” asked Arthur.

“Uh-huh,” said Francis.

“When are you leaving?” 

“August 23rd, I think.” 

Arthur nodded and gazed at the shrieking girls on the roller coaster to their left. “Say hi to the blokes for me, will you?”

Francis fished a pack of Gauloises and lit a stick. “Of course.” He offered the box to Arthur, who took one. “I missed your wake up calls, to be honest.” 

Arthur’s lips curled at the corners. “ _ You’ll be late, frog!  _ You never are a morning person, are you? I had to deal with your ugly face and gracelessness first thing in the morning.”

“And I never understood how you could wake up early after getting blind-drunk the previous night. You have to admit, I was skilled in dragging your sorry arse back to the dorm before curfew.” 

Arthur hummed. “We were a brilliant team, us.”

By the time dusk approached, the amusement park shrunk even more as people flocked around a group of fire dancers. Fireballs blazed and flew across the twilight sky in sync to the songs on the speakers, leaving trails of light in the semidarkness. 

A boisterous laughter erupted in the distance, stealing Arthur’s attention from the performers. There, across him and Francis, approached a small crowd of loud and rowdy teenagers. The rowdiest of them all was Trouble, who had his arm around a taller lad with snow-white hair and similarly pale complexion. Arthur would bet his money they were laughing at something superficial and stupid. 

He made a face as if his cigarette suddenly turned sour. He stepped back, wanting to disappear. “Ugh it’s that prat again.”

Francis whipped his head around. “Who?” 

“Don’t look, don’t look.”

“Hey, Francis!” Trouble waved his arms wide like he was trying to get the attention of someone on the other side of the island.

“Ah, Alfred!” Francis waved back.

“You know him?” Arthur asked, appalled. “Of course you do.”

Trouble, who was apparently called Alfred, excused himself for a moment and navigated the crowd to reach them. 

“I do,” replied Francis. “How do you know each other, by the way? He was asking about you yesterday. He said,  _ do you know anyone with a permanent scowl, funny British accent, and pomegranate-red hair?  _ Those were his exact words.” And he laughed in a manner that was very French, and Arthur was resisting the urge to hit his perfect cheekbones.  

Alfred was getting closer. His dirty blond hair was pushed back by the playful wind, revealing the ridiculously symmetrical features of his boyish face. He looked the same as two days ago, wearing a tattered sleeveless top, cargo shorts, and the greasy pair of red Chucks that tripped on Arthur’s window.

“Hey!” He approached with his half-moon smile, showing his crooked teeth (how could he missed them them before?), which, Arthur assumed, made girls swoon. “I  _ knew _ you’re friends with each other! Francis is like friends with everyone wherever he goes.” 

“Er, I wouldn’t really call us ‘friends’.” 

Francis rolled his eyes. “Will you finally tell me how you two met?” 

“I slipped inside his window while I was playing hide and seek the other day.” Alfred bounced on his toes. “Hey, Arthur! Your name’s Arthur, right? Nice to see you again!” 

Arthur was pretty sure that was the deadly kind of hide and seek, and Alfred was wrecking his name with that horrible American accent of his. “Er…” 

“Is he coming to the party next week?” Alfred asked with the same level of enthusiasm when he asked for Arthur’s name the first time, ignoring Arthur’s disinterest in talking to him. 

“What party?” asked Arthur. 

“Francis is throwing a party for the Fourth of July!” said Alfred. 

“Of course, he’ll come. I’ll drag him along if I have to,” guaranteed Francis. 

“It’s gonna be awesome, I promise!” 


	2. The First Summer (ii.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur reluctantly goes to Francis's party and is pulled into his summer circle of friends that includes Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay an update! Happy Fourth of July to everyone who's celebrating!
> 
> Again for the character names: Héloïse (Monaco), Ivo (Netherlands), Margaux (Belgium), Axel (Luxembourg), Paolo (Portugal)
> 
> Let me know if I missed anyone.

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

 

**ii.**

 

The morning of the Fourth of July, Arthur woke up in pain. A cocktail of discomfort washed over him last night: his chest felt like it was being stabbed with shards of glass whilst his heart rate hiked up and sweat covered every inch of his skin. When blood trickled from his nose, he surrendered to the impossibility of having a good night’s sleep. 

He glared at his room’s white ceiling and lay motionless out of spite, hands pillowing his head. The discomfort had gone hours ago, only leaving behind aching muscles and tired eyes. It wasn’t fever; he was sure of it, and jet lag wasn’t supposed to make him bleed. He stayed in bed until afternoon, pondering the causes of discomfort, and feeling the need to eat or do anything else elude him. He rolled under the sheets for hours, his eyes stinging from lack of proper sleep. His brothers knew better than pestering him to get out of bed, so they left a note on the fridge and scampered to their friends. 

When Francis showed up on his doorstep to spirit him away, he saw the silver lining on the drinks that awaited him. 

“You look well-rested,” said Francis, turning the steering wheel to the right with one hand. 

“You can say that again.” Arthur huffed and kept his eyes on the tiny American flags planted on his neighbours’ front lawn, avoiding his reflection on the side mirror. The dark circles on his eyes made him look like he was attending a Halloween party, and not July Fourth. 

“Excited for the party?” 

“You bet.” 

People cheerfully crowded the roadsides, dressed in red, white, and blue. Inflated kiddie pools sat under the sun and children laughed and splashed water at each other. A group of preteens chased their peers with water guns. Parents lounged and soaked up sun rays on their poolside chair. 

The tide was low when they crossed the bridge to the eastern part of the island. The sun was high up, painting the shore a brilliant gold. 

“Papa’s in DC for the rest of summer, so the house is all ours,” said Francis. “A few friends are coming— they’re probably frolicking around the pool right now. There’s barbecue, and some of them brought many other dishes. I didn’t ask you to bring food because I don’t want to poison my guests— ow! I’m driving!” He briefly rubbed a hand on his assaulted arm. “There’s a bar, well, you can’t drink, obviously—”

“What kind of a bloody party is that?” 

Francis slowly pulled the silver Chrysler over the drive way. Hearing laughter, blaring pop music, and singing pour from the beach, Arthur took a moment to examine himself. He wore a black Radiohead shirt, ripped jeans, and his favourite pair of Vans. Suddenly, he felt the urge to tug at the handful of bracelets around his wrists. This was something he normally wore when he attended parties in London. Why would he be self-conscious now? He didn’t really care the first time he set foot on the seaside with a leather jacket and boots, whilst the rest of the people were in their summer wear, so they could sod off. 

The Bonnefoy summer residence was a contemporary box-type house with the ocean as its backyard. It was the size of a little mansion with white walls, sliding doors, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Three girls waved from the wooden terrace. 

“Hey, Francis!” 

The one with blonde hair in a long side braid— Héloïse, Francis’s younger sister— took her sunglasses off to study her brother’s guest. 

“Oh my gosh, Arthur!” She exclaimed and disappeared to the stairs. 

Fresh nostalgia greeted Arthur’s senses upon stepping inside, conjured by the house’s black and white rustic interior, stylish wooden furniture, and indoor plants. On the canvas sofa, Francis’s friends made themselves comfortable with their knees tucked against their chest whilst nursing a glass of beer. 

“My favourite prank so far was last year,” said a college age-looking kid with a Danish accent and wild blond hair, “The morning after their birthday, Alfred and Matthew woke up on the pool!” 

“Oh yeah, I remember that one!” Another college age-looking kid chortled. Arthur remembered him from the park last week, the one with pale hair and complexion who appeared to be friends with Alfred. What he didn’t notice before was he had red eyes. Strange. “Kids slept like a log, didn’t even wake up while we transferred them to the float bed and dropped them to the pool! Oh hey, Francis!”

“Hello, everyone. This is—-“ 

“Arthur!” Héloïse charged down the stairs and landed on her toes to kiss Arthur on both cheeks. Her red hair bow squished his face in the process, so she said a quick  _ sorry _ and giggled. “How lovely to see you!” 

Arthur felt the blush creeping up his cheeks and wished he didn’t stink from sweat. “How are you, Héloïse?”

“I’m good! How are you?” 

“I’m doing well, thank you.” 

Francis cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Arthur. We used to be schoolmates in DC,” he said with an elegant sweep of his arm, “Arthur, everyone.” 

A chorus of ‘hey, Arthur’ and ‘hello, Arthur’ erupted before Francis herded him to the backyard where a long and narrow pool faced the ocean. 

“Hello, Big Brother!” said the sprightly brunette boy on a pink flamingo float. The other three swimmers turned their heads at the newcomers and waved at them; they waved back. 

American patriotism burned in the hearts of the other people on either sides of the beach. Clad in star- spangled tops, some danced on the roof of their cars, drinking and smoking legal weed. A group of frat boys promenaded screaming “USA, USA, USA, USA!” as a song with patriotic lyrics played in the distance. American flags dominated everything Arthur’s eyes could see— from the food, the girls’ bikinis, and the boys draped them around their neck like a cape, as if they were scared to forget where they lived. 

A beach volleyball match was happening a few paces from the pool. Four boys leaped and ran to strike the ball to the opponent’s side, shirtless and barefooted, and Arthur could only recognise one. The boy with dirty blond hair and tanned skin raised his arm to acknowledge their presence. The other players didn’t seem to notice.

Arthur looked more closely. “Is it me or did Alfred’s hair grow longer and wavier in a couple of days?”

“No, silly. That’s his twin brother, Matthew,” said Francis, smiling in amusement and waving at Matthew. “This one’s Alfred.” He pointed at one of the opponents who had their back on them.

“What? There are two Alfreds? I don’t know how the world can handle that.”

Francis chuckled. “They’re totally different, you know?” 

More people hovered to watch the game, even those outside Francis’s party. They watched with interest as the players soared and lunged and blocked and spiked the ball to the other side of the net. The ball arched from Matthew’s strong and impressive toss, only to be blocked by Alfred with an incredible speed. Score. Alfred’s mouth stretched into a proud grin as he high-fived his teammate. 

“They really bring out the best in each other, don’t they?” said Héloïse. “They’re almost like two halves of the same person. Maybe they are.” 

The game ended and Alfred’s team emerged as the victor. The audience dispersed and went back to their patriotic activities, whilst the brothers bickered and bantered, Alfred playfully wrapping an arm around Matthew’s neck.

Once he saw Arthur standing beside Francis and Héloïse, he released Matthew and ran to them. 

“Hey, you totally came!” said Alfred, glistening with sweat and bouncing like a golden retriever puppy. 

Arthur nodded reluctantly. 

He dusted his navy blue cargo shorts and retrieved a phone from his bag on the poolside bench. “Here ya go, Mattie.” 

Matthew unlocked his phone and his eyes bulged. “How many times do I have to tell you: stop taking selfies on my phone, Al. Jesus!” 

Alfred winked at Arthur. “This is my brother, Matthew,” he said. “You should see him in winter. He turns into a monster when playing hockey.”

The five of them sat in one of the several tables by the shore. Picking at the hem of the red chequered tablecloth, Arthur willed away the uneasiness in his chest. He glanced at the small crowds talking to each other, at the people wading in the pool, at the smokers by the door. None of them, except Francis and Héloïse, were familiar. What should he do if he was left alone with the rest of them? What would they talk about? Should he laugh to hide his awkwardness or remain nonchalant? Should he join in or keep himself an outsider? 

“Come on, let’s eat!” said Francis, pulling Arthur away from his thoughts. “I’ll go check on Antonio and Lovino. The barbecue should be ready.” 

By the grill, a short-tempered boy with a thick Italian accent berated his Hispanic-looking companion. The boy calmed down a little when the host approached them. 

Arthur followed Héloïse, Alfred, and Matthew to the food tables. The variety of choices reminded him how little he’d eaten the entire day. There were fruits, clams, grilled hot dogs, cherry cheesecake bars, baked chicken wings… Lots of them were mouth-watering, though he had to pass on the bacon cheeseburger pie. He grabbed some calamari and prawn skewers along with gratinated mussels. The smell of thyme made him ravenous. 

At the bar, a Dutch bloke called Ivo mixed drinks and played bartender, a cigarette stick behind his ear. True to the day’s theme, some of the drinks he served were cherry bombs, red, white, and blue sangria, piña colada, and rum punch. Arthur had to give props to Francis for setting up the bar to serve a party full of underage drinkers (though most of them were probably of legal age if they were outside the US). He sipped his berry lemonade. 

The pool reflected the dimming sky as Arthur finished his plate. He and Alfred were left at the table, his only company stuffing his face with a blue cake. Francis and Héloïse were nowhere to be found. Matthew was talking to Ivo at the bar. 

Alfred broke the silence, leaning closer to him so he could hear him over the noise. “Thanks for coming to my party, Arthur.” 

Arthur gave him a bewildered look. 

“Didn’t Francis tell you?” Alfred gestured to his brother and back to himself. “It’s our birthday.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Why I am not surprised?”

_ Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…  _ The entire party chorused as Francis and Héloïse emerged from the house, each holding a red, white, and blue cake that had ’17’- shaped candles and sparklers. 

_ Happy birthday, dear Alfred and Matthew… Happy birthday to you! _

Alfred’s face broke into a huge grin, visibly enjoying being the centre of attention. “Aww, thank you guys!” 

He blew the candles on the cake that Francis held, whilst Matthew blew the candles on Héloïse’s at the same time. The birthday boys were given knives to slice their cakes— sure enough, they were American flags inside and out— and chased everyone in sight to wipe frosting on their face.  

When the hype simmered down, Francis’s friends formed a circle around Arthur for the inevitable interrogation. 

“So where are you from, Arthur?” Gilbert asked, rubbing his jaw for any left over frosting. 

“I’m from England,” Arthur said. 

Francis coughed. “Actually, it’s a lot more complicated than that.” 

Arthur glared at Francis,  _ shut up frog _ . “That’s quite true,” he said, twisting the silver rings on his left hand. “Right. Let’s see, I was born in France to my English parents, grew up in Japan, and spent about two years here before living in England.” 

“That’s bomb,” said Alfred. 

“And you’re what, like, seventeen?” asked Antonio.

“Eighteen.”

“I see you’re a bit of a gypsy like Francis.”

“Something like that, yeah.” 

Gilbert raised his beer and proposed a toast to gypsies. Arthur raised his berry lemonade. 

Surprisingly, he found himself enjoying the company of Francis’s friends. Most of them came from different countries before moving to America, pretty much like the people in their international school back in DC. He listened to their stories of how their families moved to the US and found a home. 

Mathias, Lukas, Tino, Berwald, and Emil were in college. They knew each other since high school after they moved from their Nordic homes, and had always taken care of the booze for Francis’s parties. Gilbert and Ludwig were brothers, though they hardly resembled each other. Ludwig was often mistaken as the older brother because of how he treated Gilbert; plus he was taller and bulkier. Lovino and Feliciano were twins, and they loved cooking and painting, skills they adapted from their Italian family. Then, there was Elizaveta who loved horse riding. She’d be taking Criminology in university. Margaux, Ivo, and Axel were siblings with different mothers, raised in Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg respectively, until their father decided to bring them altogether and spend summers in the US. Paolo from Portugal and Antonio from Spain were cousins, who shared the same cheerful and friendly demeanour common in their home countries. 

Whilst Arthur tried to remember their names, he felt someone tug at his wrist. 

“C’mon, I’ll show you something!” said Alfred, snatching him before anyone noticed. 

They walked along the shore, which quieted down a bit after the partygoers went inside their houses. Alfred pointed at the sky. The sun was sinking over the orange horizon, setting the sky ablaze. The soft, fading light touched Alfred’s face, creating silhouettes, and painting his hair with brighter shades of gold. 

“Do you like it?” said Alfred, smiling. 

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he replied. 

From a distance, Lana Del Rey’s breathy voice matched the push and pull of riptide.  

“I just thought I’d take you away. You seemed to be overwhelmed talking to a lot of people,” said Alfred, tucking his hands on the pockets. “Too bad Francis knows everyone in Cape Blue Fin.”  

Arthur chuckled.

“So are you new to Cape Blue Fin?” 

It was a question that Alfred already knew the answer, but he seemed keen on hearing it from Arthur. He decided against a smart-arse answer since Alfred was considerate enough to take him somewhere peaceful. 

“Yeah, my father just bought a summer house.” He was itching to say,  _ you know, the one you broke into last week, _ but he said, “He thought it was a good idea for me and my brothers to spend summer together. I spent summers in England when I was studying in DC.” 

“I see. That’s cool, I guess,” said Alfred, “Hey, I can show you around if you want! I grew up here, so I know all the coolest things to do and the coolest places to go. There’s whale and seal watching, and we can hang out near a lighthouse. Do you like baseball? The locals are  _ crazy _ about baseball. The food here is great too-- the clam chowder and lobster roll are to die for. And the ice cream, too. So, what do you say? Will you take my offer for a free tour?” 

“I suppose,” said Arthur, fiddling with his bracelets. 

He crouched down on the sand and picked up a sand dollar. He and Alfred studied it on his palm, its smooth, pure white surface, and the star etched on its centre.  

“Woah, I haven’t seen one of those for years! Good catch!” said Alfred. 

Arthur was able to pick up four more as they traced the shore, Alfred praising his uncanny ability for spotting rare sand dollars. They went back to the bar to get some drinks whilst Alfred continued his fun facts about Cape Blue Fin. Once Arthur had his hands on a vodka cocktail, Alfred’s words were reduced to background noise. He didn’t want to go to bed like last night, and so he’d drown all the discomfort that rose up his chest. Down, down, down they’d go, numbness soaring to its place. 

“Hey, Arthur!” called Elizaveta. “You’re going to university in the fall too?” 

“Er yeah,” he said, taking the empty seat beside her. 

His new friends had formed another circle, discussing university life. Maybe he could use this conversation to feel excitement towards the next three years.

“What will you study?” asked Margaux. 

“Sociology,” he said. 

“Awesome!” said Gilbert, and sipped his cherry bomb. “So you want to have a better understanding of mankind, huh?” 

“Yeah, and restore my faith in it too, hopefully.” 

“Good luck with that.” 

The group chuckled. 

Arthur drank and listened quietly like a wallflower as the others spilled their guts about their hopes and worries in university, why they were interested in this degree, and how the others thought it was cool. He’d lost count of the glasses he’d brought over, but despite his clouded senses, he heard them saying they’d love to keep him talking. His accent had gotten thicker because of alcohol, and Arthur was happy to oblige, being the cheerful, talkative drunk. He became the life of the party in an instant. 

Behind them, Mathias and Gilbert ran around waving sparklers, showing off all the shapes they could form in the air. Mathias was halfway through drawing a dick when Arthur rose to get some for him and the rest of the circle. A dull pain sliced across his head as he lost his balance and nearly fell face first. Shocked gasps sliced through the thick summer air. 

“I’m alright! I’m alright!” he said, groping over the table for his drink. 

Francis was quick on his feet, grabbing his elbow and dragging him to the edge of the pool. Easing the glass from Arthur’s hand, he said, “Arthur, I think you’ve had enough.” 

Arthur blinked, attempting to steady the world. “Huh?”

Francis talked in a low voice so they could keep their conversation between the two of them. “Your brothers will have my head if they find out you’re drinking in my place again!” 

“ _ If  _ they find out.” He cracked a lazy smile. 

“Arthur,” said Francis, looked away in despair, “I knew it, I knew it was a horrible idea to let you come, but I invited you because I want you to have a great time just like what we used to do, and— and now—-” 

“Relax, mate. It’s the Fourth of July, we should be celebrating!” said Arthur. He gazed at Francis’s blue, blue eyes. He giggled. “It won’t happen again. Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Francis clenched his fists. His lips curled in disdain. He was only a few breaths from punching the lights out of him. “Don’t be an asshole. We almost lost you that night!” 

Arthur huffed. “Look, I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “I’m not like that anymore, Francis. I promise. Do you trust me?” 

He eased his scotch from Francis’s hand. “ _ Merci beaucoup. _ ” 

In his head, Arthur made a note not to grab another glass that night. 

“Hey, Arthur!” 

Alfred was whisking him outside once more before his slow mind could make sense of the situation. Gold, red, blue, and pink exploded into the twilight sky. Another  _ boom _ , and the sky burst with the quick movements of light and colours. All at once, fireworks rocketed, spiralled, and bloomed in the darkness, taking Arthur back to the Versailles of his childhood. He loved seeing the fountain light shows where everything was bright and beautiful, and everyone was happy. He’d always watch the impressive display of fireworks with wide eyes and an even wider smile. 

Beside him, Alfred mirrored the smile of a happy-hearted child, eyes on the sky. “When’s your birthday, Arthur?” 

A pink fountain blossomed in the black expanse above them. He said, “April 23rd.” 

“Do you like it?” 

Why was Alfred asking him if he liked his birthday? It was like asking if he liked the Earth or being British.

“It’s alright,” He answered with a noncommittal shrug. 

“I know some people who hate their birthday, you know, which is unfortunate,” Alfred said, facing him. “Me, I  _ love _ my birthday.”

Green and yellow reigned the heavens for a moment. People snapped photos for their next Instagram post. 

“Not only because it is one of the greatest historical events of all mankind— no offence—“ Alfred continued, “but also because everyone around me is happy, like they’re celebrating with me, you know? And of course, it’s the public holiday they’re celebrating, and not really Alfred Jones’s Day, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, I think everyone should be happy every day and find a reason to celebrate life. God, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, I might have drank too much. Sorry, I’m gonna shut up now.” 

Arthur cracked a smile at that. 

They kept their heads up to the sky, admiring the transient beauty of fireworks. As always, they were short and explosive, not really meant to last. Soon, the air was thick with sulphur, and smoke substituted for the flashing colours. Arthur walked back to the house with a fleeting joy and nostalgia in his chest.

Perhaps Arthur got carried away by the grand display of fireworks, or it was alcohol injecting emotions in him, tugging at his insides, or it was something Alfred said that made his chest swell. Whatever the hell it was, he had the strong urge to pull him close and  _ thank _ him.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out the sand dollars he collected from the beach. Holding them in his open palm, he said, “Happy birthday, Alfred.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you want to continue. What do you think of Arthur? How about Alfred? I'm not asking for essay entries, something like ‘yes more’ is enough to let me know you guys are enjoying it. :)


	3. The First Summer (iii.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alfred tucked a toothpick on the corner of his lips. “Do you have any talents?”_   
>  _“You mean secret talents?” asked Arthur, raising an eyebrow._   
>  _"Uh-huh," said Alfred, "I can walk like an orangutan!"_
> 
> Arthur is pulled into the world of Cape Blue Fin kids and enjoys it. Gradually, with Alfred’s help, he’s feeling at home on this side of the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character names: Ivo (Netherlands), Margaux (Belgium), Axel (Luxembourg), Héloïse (Monaco), Paolo (Portugal)

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

 

**iii.**

 

“Hey, Arthur!” 

Cape Blue Fin was such a small town; Arthur wondered if he’d bump into Alfred even if he stood him up on their tour. Probably. 

Alfred dragged his bicycle as he came closer to Arthur, a wide grin in his face, and a Starbucks Venti cup in his free hand. He extended it to offer Arthur his iced coffee, casually asking, “Wanna sip?”

Arthur stiffened slightly against his bicycle. “No, thanks.” 

His offer sounded as casual as saying  _ Hey, we’re having bonfire tomorrow night. Wanna come?  _ Arthur dismissed the thought as ‘Alfred is being an overly friendly American’ and asked, “Where are we going?”

“We’re picking up a friend,” replied Alfred, riding his bicycle and leading Arthur across the town square.  

After passing a couple of blocks with small shops and idling tourists, Arthur saw them approaching a Japanese restaurant named Izakaya Honda. They parked their bicycles outside, and Alfred bolted inside, Arthur trailing behind him. 

The restaurant looked otherworldly inside with its wooden floors, lanterns, and calm atmosphere. It had a garden at the back like the tea houses Arthur frequented in Tokyo. A few customers ate and chatted in low voices, enjoying the peace before the arrival of lunchtime patrons. He could see himself hanging out here if he wasn’t accompanied by a loud local boy whose name he’d rather not mention.  

“Take a seat,” said Alfred, “I’ll go get him.” 

Alfred went and greeted the staff with a friendly smile, climbing upstairs like it was his house. While waiting, Arthur picked a Murakami from the floating shelves. His eyes ran over the Japanese text, a smile gracing his lips as he could still read and understand what they said. 

“ _ You read Murakami? _ ” Someone asked in Nihongo. 

Arthur looked up and found a boy around his age with a slight stature, pale skin, and jet black hair. His eyes were dark as the night that twinkled with city lights as seen from an aeroplane window.   

His mind searched for the words, and tested his reply, “ _ Yes, I’ve read some a few years back. _ ”

“ _ I see,”  _ the boy said, seeming impressed, _ “Your Nihongo is very good. How did you learn? _ ” 

_ “My family lived in Japan for a couple of years—“  _

“There you are!” A booming voice interrupted from behind, startling both of them. 

Alfred smiled proudly and slung his arms over their shoulders, happy that his two buddies were getting along. He told his friend, “He’s pretty cool, huh?”

Then, to Arthur, “Arthur, this is Kiku, one of my best friends.” He faced Kiku, “Kiku, this is Arthur, my new friend.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Arthur,” said Kiku. 

“Likewise,” said Arthur. 

“Alfred,” said Kiku, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to your party. My cousins from Kyoto came over.”

“That’s alright, Kiks! We’ll have more parties to come!” said Alfred. “Ready for the bonfire tonight?” 

Before they left, Kiku insisted they have early lunch and served his family’s specialties. The table was soon filled with dishes like miso soup, tempura, and sushi— tuna, shrimp, and salmon. 

Arthur sipped his shio ramen. The hot, savoury soup filled his mouth, and he couldn’t help but exclaim, “ _ Omai! _ ” 

Kiku smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. 

Arthur seemed to remember himself and blushed. “We used to eat this together a lot, my brothers and I.” 

He remembered Tokyo and its brightly-lit restaurants. He remembered sitting with his three brothers, laughing and sharing food, standing out because of their light hair and English accent. They sure did attract a lot of attention and it made him feel terribly awkward, but he missed the feeling Tokyo gave him. 

After they finished, Arthur found a big bag of packaged onigiri, and brought it to the cashier. 

“You can have it, Arthur,” Kiku said as he handed it to him. 

Arthur’s eyes widened in surprise. Bowing his head low, he said, “ _ Thank you very much.” _

As they went out the door, Arthur felt nostalgia gnawing at his chest. He didn’t think he’d be reminded of his good days in Japan in this small American island. Hanging out with Alfred did have its perks, after all. 

* * *

Biking was a good idea. The wind roared against Arthur’s ears as he pushed the pedals harder and harder. They followed the coastal road at a high but steady speed, the infinite cloudless sky looming above them and the ocean stretching far and wide. Surfers rode the crashing waves, some people wading the shallow waters.

It was the kind of summer afternoon Arthur daydreamed about a lot, but at the moment, he was living it. 

The meeting place was a boardwalk on the shore bordered by a forest. Everyone was doing their own thing. Most of them were sitting on the sand, talking. On the boardwalk, Emil played vibrant indie music through his speakers whilst Ivo passed joints. 

“Hey, everyone!” greeted Alfred. 

His friends greeted them back warmly, inviting them over to show whatever they were doing. Arthur recognised most of them from Francis’s party, though there seemed to be some of them he hadn’t met yet. 

“Arthur! I’m so glad you decided not to sulk at home today,” said Francis, his wavy hair bouncing off his shoulders as he approached. 

Arthur scowled. “I don’t ‘sulk at home’, you plonker.” 

“You’ve met most of them, yes?” asked Francis. They were approaching a small circle of college-age guys, who were having a rapid conversation about web developing. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met… Arthur, this is Feliks, Raivis, Eduard, and Toris. They’re the group’s computer geniuses. One day, they’ll join the ranks of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates.” 

They all looked up and smiled awkwardly at Arthur, chorusing, “Hey, Arthur!” 

Alfred dashed to Ivo’s circle, taking the joint Gilbert passed to him, and sat between Tino and Lukas. Feliciano grabbed Kiku’s arm and asked him to go swimming with him and Ludwig. 

“What’s up, Arthur?” asked Matthew. It was refreshing to see Alfred’s twin who wasn’t obnoxiously loud or hyperactive. He wondered how they grew up very differently from each other. 

They sat next to Axel and Héloïse who were talking about their last poker game. Across them, Margaux and Elizaveta were chatting with Feliks about a fashion show they saw together last night on TV. The girls seemed to be always ready for swimming, clad in bikinis underneath their cute little outfits. Antonio, Lovino, and Paolo were munching on Francis’s shrimp bruschetta, something he claimed he’d never made before. 

There were so many of them; it was like going on this spectacular school trip with the whole class, except everyone got along nicely and there were no teachers around. Time passed without Arthur noticing. He wasn’t looking forward to the next plan anymore. He was laughing and chatting with the others, until the sun was already setting across the horizon. 

“Hey, Arthur!” shouted Alfred from the forest. “Watch this!”

He reminded Arthur of Max from  _ Where The Wild Things Are _ when he was running around the woods after the Wild Things made him king. 

Mathias threw him a ceramic plate that he smashed midair with a swing of his baseball bat. He tossed one, two, three more, and Alfred hit all of them perfectly. The boys, especially Mathias and Gilbert, found it highly amusing, laughing and complimenting him. 

“Bravo, Alfred!” Gilbert guffawed and clapped. 

The girls and Kiku just shook their heads as if it was a  _ typical Alfred _ thing to do. 

Arthur couldn’t help but think how Alfred enjoyed so much attention. He, Arthur, could only draw attention to himself very discreetly. He did it by nonconformity, through dyeing his hair eccentric colours, his unusual choice of clothes, and his behaviour in school. He’d never ask people directly to notice him, and any unsolicited attention would cripple him. 

But Alfred, he was a natural. He was in his element when he was the centre of attention. 

At around seven o’clock, Margaux said goodbye to everyone. She would be moving early to her university town, and this was her last night at Cape Blue Fin for the summer, that was why she’d be having dinner with her dad and her brothers. 

Everyone wished her good luck with uni as she gave each of them a hug. 

Alfred pouted and gave her the puppy eyes. He kissed her cheek and wrapped his big, muscular arms around her. “I’m gonna miss your waffles.” 

Margaux laughed and mussed his hair like he was her overgrown little brother. “I’m gonna make you more when I get back, I promise.” 

They waved Margaux, Ivo, and Axel goodbye as they drove home. Everyone was silent for a few moments, gazing intently at the bonfire they’d encircled. 

“That’s okay. That only means there’s more appetisers for us, ha ha!” said Alfred. 

Francis pulled out a bottle of white wine he nicked from his father’s supply. He asked Arthur and Alfred to help him prepare dinner, giving them plates and utensils to pass around their circle, whilst Antonio and Lovino offered their octopus & potato salad. 

“We usually have dinner here, you know,” said Francis. “Someone volunteers to bring their native dishes so we get a taste of their local cuisine.” 

“That’s lovely,” said Arthur, spearing his salad. He liked the concept of their friends sharing food like family, with a different set of dishes every time. 

Sitting on blankets and boulders, they ate and talked and felt the hot sand on their toes. For dessert, they made s’mores from marshmallows, grahams, and Hershey’s bars.

“Oh my god, it’s falling apart.” Next to Arthur, Alfred was catching his warm and melting s’mores in his mouth. 

Light chatter soon filled the humid air again. Arthur contented himself listening to conversations, too exhausted to take part in them. Matthew scooted close to him, glancing at his twin who was talking animatedly to Feliciano.

Matthew leaned to him, saying, “If you wanna shut him up, just say,  _ beep, beep, Alfred! _ ” He winked. 

“Is that in  _ IT _ reference?” asked Arthur. 

“Uh-huh,” said Matthew. “The freakin’ clown scares the shit out of him.” 

Arthur was about to ask,  _ who wouldn’t be? _ but Matthew seemed to take great pleasure in it. They ended up discussing their favourite 80s and 90s TV series and the parallels between  _ Twin Peaks _ and  _ Riverdale.  _

“I actually like how they modernise the Archie comics,” said Matthew. “It’s set in the present, but it definitely has a retro feel to it because of their clothes and the diner… It’s really cool.”

“Yeah, for sure!” said Arthur. 

“Alfred here had been dragging me lately to the diner to have pancakes and milkshakes at three in the morning.” 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” said his twin, who jumped when he heard his name. He turned to them, carrying a box of what looked like a chocolate cake. He told Arthur, “Hey, I got you a cake.”

“What for?” asked Arthur. He also wanted to ask where he got it. He obviously didn’t have it when they met earlier. 

“It’s a little  _ Welcome To Cape Blue Fin _ gift!” 

“Wow— er— thanks.” 

“You’re welcome!” said Alfred, beaming. Then, he noticed Arthur’s wine glass. “Wow, you’re quick! Didn’t you refill like a second ago? Do you want another?” 

Across them, Francis cleared his throat. 

“No, thanks. I’m good.” 

When Francis continued talking to Tino, Arthur whined at Alfred, “He acts like an overprotective big brother sometimes. As if having three of them isn’t enough.” 

“Why’s he watching you anyway?”

“He— er— well, I’m not really supposed to drink anymore.” 

“Oh.” 

“Where’s the bloody knife? I’m not eating this by myself.” 

Matthew handed it to him. After slicing it, they passed the cake to the others and it disappeared in no time.  

Antonio grabbed his guitar, plucking the strings with ease, taking requests. As soon as he started playing the most requested song, everyone joined in except for Emil, who claimed it was overplayed on the radio. 

Arthur and Alfred joined in too. Neither of them could sing, they realised. They couldn’t play instruments very well, too, but they loved listening to music. They both agreed they’d make better musical critics than musicians. 

“I’m more of a lyrics person, actually,” said Alfred. “I often look up lyrics and analyse their meaning. There’s this app that has lyrics annotations— Matt thinks it’s a waste of time, but I love reading them because it’s like decoding secret messages, you know? Have you ever listened to a song for a long time, you already know each word, and then you finally figure out what they’re saying and you’re just  _ mind blown _ ?” 

“Song lyrics are poetry, too,” said Arthur. “So you can really dissect each line like literature and interpret their meaning.” 

“Totally,” said Alfred. “You just have to find something  _ great _ . Most of the songs today seem to be about taking off your clothes, which is good too, but what about ambition, grit, revenge, inner peace— you know, other interesting stuff?” 

Arthur studied him for a moment. The dancing flames lit up half of Alfred’s face, casting a shadow over the other half. “I didn’t expect you’d be the poetic and philosophical type.” 

Alfred snorted and pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose. “I know I look like a typical fuckboy in my tank tops and denim shorts, but I think about a lot of things, too.” He tucked a toothpick on the corner of his lips. “Do you have any talents?” 

“You mean secret talents?” asked Arthur, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Struck with confusion, Arthur debated whether Alfred was pulling his leg or not. He was still reluctant to talk to him, but he was so insistent and unfazed by Arthur’s deadpan replies. He kept continuing the conversation, eager to learn more things about Arthur. He would have been easier to ignore if he was just annoying, but no, he had to have a pretty face and a stupid crooked smile too! Arthur hated how he constantly reminded himself not to blush when they talked. 

What should he say? Alfred already knew he couldn’t sing, so he was probably asking for weird talents. 

“Er, I can make clapping sounds with one hand?” he said, clicking his freakishly long fingers with the bottom of his palm like he was playing castanets. His cheeks were a deep red and he was laughing when he realised their friends were watching him in amusement.

“That’s very cool!” said Alfred, his eyes wide. “I can walk like an orangutan!”

“Here he goes,” said Matthew. 

Alfred stood up and wiggled his arms before swaying them above his head and stomped his long legs until he did a full circle. What made it even more realistic was his facial expression, as though he’d been practicing this impression for a long time. It was brilliant. Their friends were convulsing with laughter, and Arthur caught himself smiling. 

“Oh my god, Al, you’re the cutest!” said Elizaveta, chasing a happy tear on the corner of her eye. 

Alfred returned to his spot next to Arthur and at his initiative, they high-fived. 

A tide of sleepiness crashed on them after that. Some of them were drunk and on the verge of falling asleep, lying silently on the sand, undisturbed by the noises Mathias, Lukas, Berwald, and Tino were making as they played Cards Against Humanity. 

Arthur’s head was buzzing with the need to sleep, too. His conversational filter long gone, words slipped from his mouth before he could catch them, making the others laugh with amusement. Alfred laughed the hardest. 

“We should go hiking some time,” said Alfred, tucking himself inside the sleeping bag he was sharing with Matthew. “Up in Mount Major. The view’s awesome, right Mattie? You guys bring food, I’m gonna bring my GoPro.” 

“Al, you don’t have a GoPro,” said his twin brother, like a patient preschool teacher telling his student that one plus one equals two and not eleven.  

Then, Mathias boomed, “Arthur, _ noooo! _ Don’t listen to Alfred. That kid is full of crap. He’s always fucking lying!”

Assuming Alfred was just drunk-talking, Arthur didn’t take it seriously. He slipped inside the sleeping bag Francis spread for the two of them and tucked the blanket under his chin to get cozy as it would be freezing cold in the morning. A few inches away, Alfred twisted to his side, grinning as he faced Arthur. 

Arthur wished him good night before he closed his eyes. He let warmth wash over him, warmth from Cape Blue Fin’s welcome. He was having fun with his new friends, doing the things the locals did, as if Cape Blue Fin was his life now, and his life in London was a distant echo on the other side of the ocean.  

He woke up in time for dawn. He extracted himself from the sleeping bag, careful not to wake Francis. Most of them were still sleeping, some of them snoring. Gilbert and Elizaveta were talking in low voices at the far corner. 

He shivered at the bite of the early morning air. Yawning and stretching his stiff muscles, he found a boulder to sit on and watch the sunrise. A handful of tourists were out too, some had tripod on the sand, and the others jogging along the shore. 

The hazy blue horizon was slowly turning bright yellow. He checked his phone to see if his brothers left a message (he might have forgotten to tell them he was staying the night) and told them he was coming home soon. 

By the time everyone was up, the sun was warming up the beach for another summer day. They started packing their things inside their cars and tidying up the boardwalk. Alfred was murmuring something about biking home when Matthew said he brought their pick up. 

“Mattie, you’re heaven-sent as always!” He said, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “Hey, Arthur!” 

Arthur, who was loading the last of Francis’s picnic baskets on the backseat, almost hit his head on the roof. It was too early for Alfred’s high energy. 

“What is it?” 

“I can give you a ride,” replied Alfred, climbing to the driver’s seat of their pick up truck.  

Arthur thought about it for a moment. It was a long way home, he realised. He enjoyed cycling yesterday because it was his first time to explore the island without a car and there were three of them, but without Kiku and Alfred, he didn’t have enough energy to cycle several miles this morning. 

“Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Is there anything you want to see? 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you want to continue. :)


	4. The First Summer (iv.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It was kinda fun,” said Alfred, amusement laced in his words. “Felt like we jumped out of a_ Skins _episode back there.”_  
>  _“You’re mental, you are,” said Arthur. “I fucking hate you.”_  
>  _They grinned like idiots._
> 
> Slightly overwhelmed being in a crowd, Arthur and Alfred explore Cape Blue Fin on their own, whilst getting to know each other a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re not bored with this yet. Things will start being interesting next chapter, I promise!

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

 

**iv.**

 

Summer rolled by as quickly as the wheels of Alfred and Matthew’s pick up truck. Arthur often found himself climbing on its back these days, tagging along with their friends for the lack of something better to do.

Excitement rushed in his veins when the truck picked up speed. Feeling the wind in his hair, he threw his arms in the air, a smile on his face. Alfred sat opposite him, knee tucked to his chest. He smiled back at Arthur whilst sipping his Starbucks coffee, his face still and sharp against the blur of trees.

Gilbert and Elizaveta tailed the truck on a motorbike, her arms around his waist, her long, pastel pink hair flowing freely in the wind.   

At dusk, they stopped near the woods on the outskirts of Cape Blue Fin. The boys lay on the truck bed and the pavement to smoke as Héloïse played _Supercut_ by Lorde, tugging at Elizaveta’s arms to dance and spin around the empty road in their crop tops and high waist shorts, singing at the top of their lungs.

“Dude, is this your jam or what?” Mathias asked Gilbert, who was humming along and bobbing his head to the beat. He knew every word of it.

“Liz plays the entire album ever since its release, it’s impossible not to catch an ear worm. Besides, Lorde is hands-down awesome!” he said, sucking on his cigarette.

Alfred joined Arthur on the hood of his truck, watching planes fly by. They opened a pack of crisps that they bought from a convenience store before meeting the others. Whilst Alfred scored a few cans of beer somewhere, Arthur got orange juice, and they raised a toast to Cape Blue Fin.

When the girls’ music ended, Elizaveta sat and played the ukulele, singing softly with Gilbert. Their voices blended perfectly and sounded like the ocean waves.

“So how long have you and Francis known each other?” asked Alfred, clawing a fistful of crisps.

“About a couple of years, when my family moved to DC,” replied Arthur.

“You must be best pals then, huh?”

Arthur almost choked on his juice. “I wouldn’t say that, but we did a lot of things together, yeah,” he said. “Got ourselves into a lot of trouble in boarding school— proper tearaways, we were. He has this talent of procuring booze for our friends, I was skilled at sneaking out. We’d play hooky and get drunk before lunch, drinking straight from the bottle, faffing around with junkies and all that. It just made us feel so alive at that time.”

Alfred chuckled and sipped his beer.

Arthur took a long drag of his cigarette. For the first time since setting foot on the island, he felt a kind of weariness that he imagined old people experienced, the kind that sank into his bones. “We were a bad influence to each other, but we didn’t realise how much we were destroying ourselves until shit went down. Francis was expelled, I was shipped back to England to sober up. The glory days were over.”

Alfred opened his mouth to ask another question, but Tino saved Arthur from oversharing.

“Hey, you guys! You wanna play ‘Would you rather’?”

“Yeah, sure!” said Arthur, climbing down the hood to join the rest of their friends sat on the roadside.

“Okay, you guys start,” said Feliciano, who was sitting across him. His wide grin seemed to be perpetually etched on his face.

Arthur gazed at Alfred for a moment and asked, “Would you rather always be 10 minutes late or always be 20 minutes early?”

“Always 10 minutes late. I hate waiting, ha ha!” replied Alfred. He turned to his left and asked Matthew, “Uh, let’s see… Would you rather be itchy for the rest of your life or be sticky for the rest of your life?”

His twin brother rolled his eyes. “Sticky.”

“Probably from all that maple syrup, huh?” Alfred commented under his breath.

Then, Matthew asked Ivo, “Would you rather live like a king but have no friends and family or be homeless with your friends and family?”

“So cheesy, Matt!” said Ivo. “Be homeless with friends and family. Gilbert, would you rather eat a potato and feel its pain or be a potato?”

The incredulous look on Gilbert’s face was priceless. “Seriously? Are you high right now?”

Everyone laughed.

“Just answer the question.”

Gilbert appeared to struggle for a second. “Be a potato,” he said and and asked Ludwig with a straight face: “Would you rather smell like eggs when you burp or have a green cloud appear when you fart?”  

It went on until they reached a full circle, chugging beer and munching on finger food, displaying grossed expressions from time to time. Their cheeks ached from smiling and laughing so much, marvelling at their genius ideas and even more brilliant answers.

Alfred was clingy like a cat. He cracked jokes and chattered nonstop, never leaving Arthur’s side. Arthur had no idea when he’d slipped an arm around his shoulders. The feeling was foreign to him: they’d only known each other for days, but then again, this was Alfred Jones who was friendly with everyone. He stiffened when he first felt its weight on him, fighting not to blush at the awkwardness, but he didn’t dare push him away. He simply didn’t want to make an issue out of it.

Night had already fallen when they had exhausted their clever ideas. They turned off their cars’ headlights to admire the stars in absolute darkness.

Arthur and Alfred lay on the truck bed, legs crossed. Stretching an arm towards the sky, Alfred happily traced constellations for Arthur, who was hopeless in this matter and only knew the Big and the Small Dippers.

“That’s Cygnus,” said Alfred, pointing at the cluster of stars that comprised the constellation.

“Isn’t that the bird?” asked Arthur.

“No, silly. It’s a flying swan, also called the Northern Cross.”

“Right.”

“And that’s Draco the dragon. See that dim, winding string of stars?”  

The woods were very quiet and the night breeze was lulling them to sleep. In a few minutes, they decided to pack up and go home.

“Yeah, we better head back home,” said Alfred. “I have work early in the a.m. tomorrow.”

“Oh, you have a summer job?” asked Arthur.

“Yeah,” replied Alfred. “Some of us have to work hard in order to afford overpriced coffee, ya know. Ha ha!”

“What do you do, then, Mr. Hard Worker?”

“Something I’m good at,” Alfred grinned, flashing his crooked teeth. “Destroying things.”  

* * *

The next day, Alfred invited him to stop by at work so they could grab something to eat before going to Francis’s. Arthur didn’t have trouble finding the location seeing it was their neighbour’s. He hesitated before knocking on the door.

“Oh, hey, Arthur!” said Alfred, his sweaty face lighting up. “We’re just wrapping up then we’re free to go. Come on in!”

In the kitchen, Gilbert, Ludwig, Elizaveta, and a middle-aged man with blond hair pulled up into a bun were busy finishing up the day’s demolition tasks. Arthur could barely navigate the room because of the debris and tools littered all over the floor. His three other friends greeted him.

“This is our dad, the boss,” said Gilbert. “Dad, this is our friend Arthur. He lives next door.”

The middle-aged man regarded Arthur. It was as if Future-Ludwig had stepped out of a time machine— they had the same blue eyes and sharp facial structure (come to think of it, Gilbert looked like his brother and his father if people could see through his albino features). The only difference were the lines on his face and his taller and bulkier frame.  

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.” They shook hands. “Do you live next door? The Kirklands?”

“The very same.”

“We worked on your house a few months ago, the demolition and remodelling.”

“Did you? Well, you did a lovely job back there. My brothers and I love it.”

“Ludwig,” said his father, turning off the electric cutter, “Will you help Alfred lift this granite top? And Gilbert, for Christ’s sake, stop toying with nails and help Liz tear down the half-wall.”  

Like a soldier standing to attention, Gilbert said, “Yes, Sir!”

His father shook his head as though he mentally face-palmed himself.

Arthur watched with interest whilst they worked their last-minute wonders around the kitchen. On one side, Alfred and Ludwig moved granite slabs, their arm muscles bulging underneath their shirtsleeves, whilst Gilbert and Ludwig’s dad worked with the electric cutter. Elizaveta and Gilbert, on the opposite side of the room, seemed to be having the time of their lives swinging sledgehammers to knock down the half-wall.

Dust sprinkled the kitchen and formed a white layer on the floor. Arthur wondered if Gilbert was inhaling any, seeing as he was the only one who didn’t wear a mask, whilst he jabbered away about their school trip in Vancouver last autumn.

“I mean, I wouldn’t know what to do if—“ He sneezed loudly, enough to startle everyone in the room.

Ludwig rolled his eyes and handed Gilbert a mask.

After a couple of minutes, the boss called it a day. “That’s enough for today, crew. Nice work.”

Arthur and Alfred took their bicycles and went to get some food. The afternoon sun burned the back of their necks. Alfred’s golden skin, covered with sweat, glinted under the light. A pang of jealousy shot through Arthur’s chest because he couldn’t stand to be under the sun for too long. Instead of getting tan, his skin would turn obnoxiously pink.

“Oh man, I am _soo_ hungry!” said Alfred once they ordered food and sat on a booth. He gobbled up a burger the moment he put down the tray.

Arthur picked on his chicken nuggets, contemplating how much fried food he got on his tray. Alfred’s appetite must have been contagious because he felt like he could finish his hash brown and fried chicken in no time.

“Do Gilbert and Ludwig really call their dad ‘sir’?” he asked.

“Huh?” said Alfred, his mouth full of fries. He swallowed. “Uh yeah, sometimes. I heard Hans— Mr. Beilschmidt— came from a military family.”

“Interesting.”

Alfred searched inside his bag and handed out peaches. “Hey, you want some peaches? Mom got some from the market this morning.”

Arthur took one. “Cheers, mate.”

“You’ve never been to Blue Fin if you haven’t tasted them. They’re the essence of summer.”

Taking a whiff of the fruit, Arthur asked, “Do you like your job?”

Alfred perked up even more at the question, pushing back the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. “Totally,” he said. “It’s a good outlet, y’know? Like if I’m upset or restless, I’ll just swing a sledgehammer or tear down a wall, and I’ll feel so much better. Plus, having a job makes my mom happy because I’m not at home playing video games all day, ha ha!”

“What time do you start in the morning?”

“Six a.m., so we’re finished at around lunch or so.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine having to work that early.”

“It’s fine. I’m an early bird,” said Alfred. “And it’s to avoid working under this heat. It’s good workout too, more than anything.”

He finished the sentence by rolling his shirtsleeve up a little to flex his toned bicep. Arthur could see from his very short trip to his workplace how Alfred used his strength there. He wouldn’t have to pump iron in the gym— lifting and using demolition tools would easily give him those well-defined muscles.

By the time they arrived at Francis’s, Feliks and the girls were doing yoga by the beach, turning the heads of passers-by. Mathias and Feliciano stood beside them, attempting to mirror their pigeon pose and epically failing.

“Seriously, how do you do that?” asked Mathias, who slumped on the sand in surrender.

“Like, it’s totally easy you know,” said Feliks. Kneeling, he arched his spine backwards and stretched his arms, pointing his fingers towards the sand.

“Show off!” said Mathias. “Are you sure you’re not secretly a snake or something?”

Arthur, with the rest of their friends, laughed. Contrary to the others, he was contentedly dipping his feet in the pool, his jeans rolled up to his shins. He didn’t want to take part in any of the activities around him. He was just happy to be outdoors on a fine summer day. To observe everyone through his sunglasses, feel the ocean breeze against his skin, listening to his friends’ waves of laughter. He was a sponge absorbing these sensations.  

“Come on, Arthur!” said Antonio. Everyone seemed keen on drowning him, splashing water towards his direction relentlessly.

“No!” Before Antonio could drag his leg down the pool, he retreated and hissed, “Don’t fucking drag me, I’ll kill you!”

Alfred, who was happily wading through the chlorinated water, laughed and said, “He’s British— he doesn’t like that!”

* * *

That night, Arthur and Alfred went out by themselves because they agreed being in a group was exhausting sometimes. When Alfred found Arthur by himself, outside the group conversation, he asked him if he wanted to go somewhere else and Arthur said yes.

One hand on the steering wheel and the other on his iced coffee, Alfred showed no sign of sleepiness. The night had turned deeper and darker as they took back roads across the woods where the truck could barely fit. They must have been driving for an hour when Arthur had the urge to ask where they were.

“Where are we?” asked Arthur.

He thought Alfred didn’t hear because it took him a while to answer. “I don't know.”

“You don’t know,” Arthur repeated.

“Nope.”

“You’re from here, and you’re the one who drove us here, and you’re saying you don’t know?”  

“You learn something new every day.”  

Arthur wanted to throttle him.  

“Relax, dude. I got this,” said Alfred, beaming.

To prevent his fingers from curling around Alfred’s neck, Arthur fumbled with his phone and connected it to the speaker. Music was always a good distraction. Perhaps they could find out how many favourite artists they had in common.

“You— uh— like any sports?” asked Alfred.

“Sure, I like football, you know— socc _er_ ,” said Arthur, exaggerating the pronunciation of the last word in a mock American accent. “Rugby’s pretty cool too.”

“Oh yeah?” said Alfred, draping his wrists over the steering wheel. “I join Blue Fin’s rugby team every summer. I’ll let you know when there’s a match coming up.”

“Cool.”

Silence fell. Beneath them, the engine hummed and the wheels hit the pavement.

“I like the way you talk,” said Alfred. “Your accent’s pretty cute, y’know?”

Arthur knew this would come sooner or later. He’d never left the States without people commenting on his accent.

“The way your tone drops when you ask questions, the way you never pronounce ‘r’s, your chips and crisps and rubbish bins, it’s just different. Cute. Cool,” said Alfred, then he did a terrible imitation of the English accent. “You’ll be like, _Really?_ _Can we kindly please get some tea later? There must be something you haven’t thrown to the harbour yet.”_

Arthur wrinkled his nose with revulsion. “I don’t speak like that! What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Through his glasses, Alfred’s eyes twinkled with naught. He laughed. “Easy. I’m just messing with you, man!”

They must have reached another town when a street of suburban houses appeared alongside them. Alfred turned to the corner by a vacant lot and turned the engine off. They lay down on the hood of the truck and watched the sky. Above, the stars shone like glittering dust in the darkness.

Alfred passed Arthur a spliff and asked, “What’s it like to belong nowhere?”

Rolling the joint between his fingers, Arthur considered the question. “You mean not having to live somewhere permanently?”

Alfred nodded.

“It’s kind of liberating, actually, knowing you have the freedom to uproot your life and start somewhere else again,” replied Arthur. “Hey, life’s too short to live in one place.”

“Lucky you. I hardly left this side of the country.”

Arthur didn’t say how it made him feel lost most of the time, that the idea only sounded fun when spoken and not lived. He spared him a glance and found those blue eyes studying him. Alfred actually kept quiet, really listening to Arthur’s stories with wonder written all over his face. He felt a jolt in his chest. Someone was actually _paying attention_ to him; someone genuinely wanted to hang out with him.

Arthur was still reluctant being himself around Alfred, but he was making things light and easy between the two of them.

“Francis’s birthday is next week,” said Alfred, “What are you getting him?”

“A shitload of condoms,” replied Arthur.

Alfred coughed as smoke caught in his throat.

They shared another spliff, talking about nothing to fight the sudden sleepiness dawning upon them. Then, they savoured the silence when they ran out of words and laughter had escaped their lips.

_And you laugh like you’ve never been lonely_

From the speakers, Ben Howard crooned into the night, his voice mellow and honeyed, accompanied by strings.

They didn’t even bother to look at the time when they decided to drive back to Blue Fin. Wanting to waste more time on the road, they took the long way home. 

“I like these suburban streets,” said Alfred. In the distance, the sky was slowly turning plum purple. “The houses look the same with their white picket fences and perfectly trimmed front yard. They make me feel better knowing there are still a few constants left in this fast-paced world.”  

For their last destination, they parked by the town square before Alfred drove Arthur to his house. They were the only ones out there. The stars twinkled overhead at the same time the sky brightened with layers of pastels, the empty streets sparking thrill under Arthur’s skin.

“Doesn’t it excite you?” he asked Alfred. “Walking through the dark side of the morning whilst the town sleeps?”

* * *

At around four a.m. after Francis’s birthday party, Arthur jerked awake and bolted upright, a familiar tightness squeezing his lungs.

Sweating and shaking, he tried to breathe in some air and warded off the images from his nightmare. He touched his fingertips to his neck to make sure it was all a bad dream— someone was strangling him in his sleep, _he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe_ . He struggled and screamed for help but no one came. It seemed terribly _real_.

He looked around the room and, for a second, wondered where he was. He reckoned he just spent too much time travelling. If he concentrated enough, he’d remember where he was. Was he in his boarding school in DC? This absolutely wasn’t his bedroom in London. Was this their family’s summer house?

Nothing looked familiar except Alfred, who was curled up beside him, serenely sleeping under the duvet. In the blue darkness, he could see abstract paintings on the wall in front of him and their clothes scattered on the floor. His breaths were becoming short and shallow.

He blinked, willing himself to remember what happened last night. All he could see were hazy flashes of Francis’s birthday party. The bloody frog was too busy spritzing champagne, he didn’t care about his nutter friends going wilder than usual all over his place. Then, he recalled dancing and hollering and laughing and accepting a brownie from someone and everything went blank after that.

Desperation sweeping over him, he groped for the light switch and turned it on.

Alfred jolted awake by the sudden brightness, sputtering, covering his eyes with his arms. “What the hell, man?”

“Where the fuck are we?” demanded Arthur.

Alfred slowly sat up and grabbed his eyeglasses. He looked around, the duvet pooling around his hips. Just like him, he only had his underpants on. “I don’t know…” he said, languid confusion written on his face.

“How did we— h-how did we get here?” Arthur choked and wheezed. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores. He couldn’t stop shaking.

He was dying. This was how he would go. The police would find them soon and make a report: Arthur Kirkland, died trespassing a stranger’s house in Cape Blue Fin. They would notify his family immediately. He could already envision his father’s disappointed face— he’d let him down even until death.

“I don’t know… Hey, what’s wrong?” Alfred’s words anchored him to the present.

Words slipped out of his mouth without his permission. “I don’t know… I don’t know…”

“Don’t be scared. I’m here, you’re safe with me.” The mattress dipped as Alfred crawled closer to him, his voice sounding distant.

Gazing outside the window, Arthur tried to take deep breaths and stop the trembling that had seized his body from head to foot. He closed his eyes. _Breathe in, breathe out._ When he opened them, blinking red and blue lights danced in his vision.

“The police!” he exclaimed.

“Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!”

With the speed of lightning, Alfred snatched all of their clothes from the floor and tossed some to Arthur. They might have worn each other’s shirts, but that was the least of their concerns at the moment. As soon as they slipped on their shoes, they climbed out of the window, slid along the pipe on the wall and jumped on the pavement.

They ran as far as they could, Alfred looking over his shoulder to see if Arthur was keeping up with him. He stopped and asked Arthur something he didn’t catch. Arthur tried to reply but no sound came from his mouth, only shallow breaths.

“They’re— gone— now,” said Alfred, wheezing, collapsing on a curb. “They weren’t after us— after all.… Lucky there wasn’t— anyone— in the house.”

When Arthur didn’t reply, he inched closer to him and tentatively rubbed circles on his back. “You’re alright, Arthur. I got you.”

Arthur shut his eyes and put his head between his knees, feeling all the chemicals in his body circulating in madness, wanting to jump out of his skin. “Will you please leave me alone?”

“No,” said Alfred firmly. “I can’t leave you alone when you’re freaking out like that. I won’t bother you, I’ll just stay here.”

Arthur didn’t say anything else and focused on collecting his breath. He counted slowly from one to ten, clenching and unclenching his fists. He inhaled the scent of dew on mown grass, felt the crisp early morning air, and listened to the sleeping neighbourhood.

“Alright, I’m calm now. Will you kindly go away?” He said.

“Nope,” replied Alfred. “Can you walk? C’mon, let’s go.”

Arthur followed Alfred’s lead without asking questions. He was too tired to be curious, too tired to think. It didn’t take long until they reached Alfred’s favourite diner. True to what Alfred had been telling him, it transported them back to the 50’s with its neon lights, cosy booths, printed adverts and movie posters from the decade.

“Pancakes? Bacon and eggs?” asked Alfred.

Arthur slumped against the cushioned booth like a toy with drained batteries, his bright red hair cascading over his eyes. “Just tea, please. If they have it.”

“Okie dokie.”

Aside from them, there were only about ten people at the diner. Most of them looked their age, having a very late dinner or a very early breakfast just like them, and the others were middle-aged who seemed to be going home from night shift. Alfred returned with Arthur’s tea and strawberry milkshake and waffles for himself.

Sitting across Arthur, Alfred regarded him with concern. He hesitated for a second. “You want Valium? I have some at home.”

“What? Christ, no,” he replied. Alfred appeared to be wounded by the sharp edges of his words, so he added, “I think that’s the last thing I need right now. Thank you, though.”

He sipped his tea, hoping it would cancel the splitting headache that was cleaving the top of his head with the sharpness of an axe. He grieved over his lost hours of sleep whilst wishing he could remember in full detail what happened last night. Did any of their friends see him and Alfred leave the party? Did they bother to stop them? What else did they do aside from breaking into an empty house?

Then, he remembered waking up so close to Alfred under the duvet. Whose idea was it to enter the bloody house?

Arthur slammed his palms to his face. “I’m a walking catastrophe.”

“It was kinda fun,” said Alfred, amusement laced in his words. “Felt like we jumped out of a _Skins_ episode back there.”

“You’re mental, you are,” said Arthur. “I fucking hate you.”

They grinned like idiots.

The sun was rising outside the window. He watched as the broad golden rays hit Alfred’s face, the tips of his dark blond hair glinting against the red booth. When those blue eyes met his, he looked away.

Blood sang all over his body. His heart thundered in his ribcage, feeling so alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in USUK drabbles (or wondering where I am in between updates), you can find me on Tumblr: prussiumscribbles. You can drop a prompt if you want! 
> 
> See you next update!


	5. The First Summer (v.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Alfred found themselves spending each day of the week with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:  
> Allistor - Scotland  
> Ciaran - Northern Ireland  
> Gwil - Wales

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

 

**v.**  


 

Muffled voices blended with the sound of water trickling from the shower head. Arthur strained his ears to hear who his brothers were buggering— wait, was that Alfred’s voice?  

“—His Royal Highness is in the shower—”

“—he has my phone and—“

“Lastborn has a visitor!” Gwil sang as he passed outside the bathroom door.

Feeling a cold shiver up his spine, Arthur finished quickly to prevent unnecessary talk whilst cursing himself for taking a shower in the bathroom downstairs. He emerged with a towel around his waist, blushing at the sight of Alfred giving his body the once-over, his hair dripping across his face and the back of his neck.

Without saying a word, he climbed up to his room, clawed some clothes from the wardrobe, put them on, grabbed Alfred’s phone, and sprinted downstairs.

The unexpected visitor was looking at the many framed family pictures on top of a bureau cabinet. There was one in Jardin des Tuileries, Paris, with Mum and Dad. Arthur was about two years old, with round and chubby cheeks, surrounded by his three older brothers who were making him laugh.

Then there was one taken a couple of years later during a trip to the floating market in Vietnam with their father. They were all wearing straw hats. Ciaran was proudly holding their shopping basket, flashing his teeth with braces, and Arthur was seven and sulky.  

Alfred’s eyes lingered on one of the recent photos, the one which Gwil put up the other day— a picture of their visit to Australia last winter break. Arthur and his brothers were having dinner by the Sydney Harbour with their mother and her new partner, who both possessed the ageless charm of middle-aged Hollywood celebrities. They were all raising a glass, a grin on their faces.

“Here he is!” exclaimed Ciaran.

“Hey, Arthur!” said Alfred, beaming and twisting the Starbucks cup in his hand. “I was about to text you but Mattie wouldn’t let me use his phone. Uh, I think you have mine?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, handing Alfred’s phone. “Here.”

Alfred sighed with relief. “Thanks! Oh man, I thought I lost it at the diner.”

Gwil cleared his throat to remind them of their presence. He and Ciaran stood in between Arthur and Alfred, taking advantage of their height.

“So you’re the one that keeps our Lulu busy,” said Gwil, tousling Arthur’s hair.

“Ugh!”

Alfred cocked his head to the side. “Lulu?”

“Arthur,” said Allistor, his lips curling up into a sly smile. His eyes glinted with naught.

Arthur was dying on the inside, wanting to erupt as his family nickname was revealed to Alfred. _Eject! Eject!_

“Uh— I guess…” said Alfred.

“Thanks for keeping him from brooding,” said Ciaran.  

“I don’t b—!” protested Arthur.

“He barely goes outside, you know—” said Gwil.

“—soaks in the tub for ages—” said Ciaran.

“—about the palest thing I’ve ever seen—” said Allistor.

“Clearly, they haven’t seen Gilbert,” said Arthur under his breath, making Alfred chuckle.

Arthur’s attempts to spirit Alfred away from their house failed as his brothers went to interview his new friend about Cape Blue Fin and the countless things they could do in town. He just wanted to zone out whilst Allistor, Ciaran, and Gwil continued fussing over him in front of Alfred.

Having no interest in being an active participant in their conversation, Arthur couldn’t help but see his family through Alfred’s eyes. He’d never been more aware of Allistor’s habit of scratching his sideburns, or Ciaran’s freckles, or Gwil and his ginger beard and man bun.

Every time Allistor spoke, Alfred paid attention to him like nobody else was in the room. It could be his usual way of being the family’s natural-born speaker, Arthur thought, but then, there was this dreamy look in Alfred’s eyes as if he was smitten by Allistor’s presence.

They were about to step out the door when Allistor called him and touched his shoulder. “Hey, Alfred.”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to piss him off too much ‘cause that’s our job,” replied Allistor with a wink.  

Not knowing what to say, Alfred flashed an awkward smile.

Together, he and Arthur left the house. 

* * *

“Your brothers are kinda cool.”

Arthur snorted. “Are you joking?” He asked. “They’re the most annoying creatures to grace the earth.”

They were cycling side by side on the way to Kiku’s house. Above them, clouds drifted by like giant white candy floss. The waves crashed on the shore to their left.

Arthur’s shirt was already sticking onto his back, a puddle of sweat spreading across it. For a second, he considered wearing light-coloured shirts, but then he barely had those.

“Are they always that, uh—”

“Loud? Annoying? Overprotective?” said Arthur. “They can get quite paranoid too.”

“Of course, you’re their little brother!” replied Alfred. “I feel the same way about Matthew.”

“You’re twins.”

“I’m older by two minutes, so I’m his big brother.”

“If you say so.”

Arthur pedalled a little bit faster to go ahead of Alfred, but he caught up, falling back to his side.  

After a moment, Alfred asked, “So you all speak a foreign language?”

“Yeah, we had to,” replied Arthur. “We used to attend intensive classes after school in France and in Japan because Father always worked late hours. It became some sort of a bonding for us, really. We used to translate things for him because his foreign language skills weren’t as polished as ours.”

“That’s cool,” said Alfred. “I try learning Spanish, but I can’t get a hang of it. Matthew’s almost fluent in French, and he’s thinking about moving to Québec with Dad for college.”

“It’s always helpful speaking another language, you never know when you’ll need it. Just keep learning,” said Arthur.

Alfred smiled. “I will,” he said. “You really look like your brothers. Did anyone tell you that?”

“All the time. Except for the hair, right?” said Arthur.

“Except for the hair,” said Alfred. “Do you always dye it red?”

“No, I dye it different colours.”

“Blond looks nice on you.”

“Ta,” replied Arthur.

He could still remember random people mistaking him for his older brothers when they were new in town. Everyone always said Arthur looked exactly like Allistor out of all his brothers, except they have different hair and eye colours.

He had naturally pale blond hair with very light roots, something he got from his mother, whilst his brothers got their father’s blazing red hair. Meanwhile, Arthur’s eyes were sea-glass green just like Ciaran’s and Gwil’s, and Allistor’s were ocean blue.

“I didn’t look like them when we were younger though. They used to say I’m adopted to make me cry.” He chuckled.  

“Why do they call you ‘Lulu’?” asked Alfred.

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up again. He wished they were almost at Kiku’s house so he didn’t have to tell Alfred about his family nickname, but he couldn’t see Izakaya Honda in the distance, so he had no choice but to embarrass himself.

“It’s from my middle name: Lucien,” he said. “My family was living in France when I was born, and my parents fancied bloody French names. Gwil, who was like two at that time, couldn’t say ‘Arthur’ so they called me ‘Lulu’ instead.”  

“I think ‘Lulu’ is cute,” said Alfred.

Arthur drew his eyebrows together. “You know that ‘loo’ means toilet in the UK, right?”

“No way! That sucks, man!” Alfred scrunched his face in a funny way.

“Yeah, so much for brotherly love,” replied Arthur. They turned right and found the town square.

“Funny how people seemed to get the impression that my brothers are cool, when they’re really not,” He continued. “Especially Allistor. We live together in London, you know. Sometimes, he’d invite some of his mates over from the Foreign and Commonwealth Office— he works there, you see— and they’d ask me if he’d always been that cool. They look up at him like he’s Allistor Kirkland The Great. And I’ll be like _he’s just the same berk I grew up with_ , and they’ll all burst into laughter.”

* * *

They didn’t know when it started, but they had been hanging out after Alfred’s part-time job shift. They always found something new to do with every day of the week.

On Monday, they listened to music with their feet dangling from a bridge. On Tuesday, they jumped into someone’s pool. Alfred was supposed to jump with Arthur but he didn’t. Alfred laughed so hard with his arms wrapped around his belly, whilst Arthur, drenched with his clothes on, gave him the dirty finger. Come Wednesday, they drove out of town and played dares. Their favourites were walking into someone’s house (and running away when the owner took out his gun), and randomly stepping into the middle of a dance class and joining in.   

Before they knew it, another week had passed, and they were spending every day with each other.  

Sometimes, Arthur would think Alfred was deliberately getting him into trouble. He’d imagine Alfred daring him to do things and leaving him when the cops came and laugh at him somewhere for making a complete fool of himself. Much to his relief, none of it had happened so far.

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was happy that someone was making time for him and listening to the thoughts in his head.

One afternoon, they found themselves lying in a meadow. Trees rustled in the wind, the warm breeze touching their faces. Leaves danced and swayed as birds sang. From a distance, they could hear the river flowing.  

They decided to lay low for a bit, saving their exciting adventures for another day.

Alfred sipped his iced coffee. His hands still had traces of grease in them, glinting under the sunlight. Beside him, Arthur was stretched out contentedly with his ankles crossed, cherishing the good weather. He could see Alfred studying him beneath his sunglasses.

“What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done?” he asked before Alfred could come up with something to say.

Alfred almost choked on his coffee. He thought about it for a moment and said, “I pooped behind a bush once.”

Arthur snorted. “What?”

“One time after school, my tummy felt really bad. I was cycling home but was like _shit, I couldn’t make it on time!_ So I parked my bicycle and went behind a bush. But then, I didn’t have tissue paper with me, so I used the test paper in my bag.”  

“Jesus Christ, that’s grim,” said Arthur, caught between making a disgusted face and laughing. But he couldn’t help himself, and they both laughed.  

There were times when he found it difficult to believe what Alfred was telling him because Arthur was naturally sceptical and Alfred’s stories could get so _absurd_. It felt like Alfred was pulling his leg and waiting for him to fall into a pit.

“And you?” asked Alfred.

Not expecting Alfred to throw the question back to him, Arthur went blank. He was sure he’d done a lot of dirty things when he was drunk— Francis took pleasure in telling him the next morning, the twat— but he could never remember them. Sometimes, he’d wake up naked on the floor or with a bruise on his face, and many other ridiculous things. There were lapses in his memory and they frightened him, and that was one of the many reasons why he had to stop drinking before he was even of legal age.  

“I had sex at a cemetery. With a friend,” he told Alfred. “We were both curious, so we did.”

What he didn’t say was he was experimenting with a male friend. Not sure how Alfred would react, Arthur kept it to himself. He didn’t want to test the waters yet.

* * *

The next Wednesday afternoon, the two of them went to the beach. Alfred took him to the other side of the island with many cliffs and boulders and fewer people. 

“It’s my favourite spot in Blue Fin,” said Alfred. “The beach on summer weekends is the worst, but this side is very rocky, that’s why not a lot of people swim here. And if you come here in the middle of the week, it’s all yours.”  

He was chasing the waves, knee-deep in the ocean, as the wind played with his hair. He laughed as another great tide came.

Arthur sat on a rock, studying the open space before them. The sky was cloudless and blue, and the ocean appeared limitless. But he knew three thousand miles across them was home, where he would return in a few weeks.

The tide receded as minutes passed.

He joined Alfred who was walking along the low water. They showed each other the starfish they picked up, marvelling on their size and the way the grooves on their feet moved, before putting them back on the sand. Around them, the shallow waters reflected the sky like an infinite mirror.

“Thanks for coming with me here today, Arthur,” said Alfred, playing with the sand dollar on his palm. “I needed it.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Arthur.

“I don’t know…” said Alfred. He gazed into the horizon. “I feel overwhelmed these days, I just probably need to slow down and breathe.”

“Is it because we’ve been going out too much lately?” replied Arthur.

“No, no, it’s not that,” said Alfred. “It’s just… I don’t know… Do you ever feel lost in the crowd sometimes? You’re surrounded with friends, but you don’t feel like you’re _there_ … I don’t know…”

For a moment, Arthur was out of words. He’d always thought Alfred was happy being surrounded with people, especially with his friends.  

The evening ocean breeze swept past them, sending shivers under Arthur’s skin.

“Hey— er— we should probably go home, and er— come back tomorrow,” he said, rubbing the side of his arms.   

Alfred’s face brightened. “Aw, Arthur! I didn’t know you like spending time with me that much!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Cheeky.”

Alfred smiled, flashing his crooked teeth. “Can we stay a bit more? Until the sun comes down?”

“Okay.”

And so they stayed, running and meeting the waves. The sun was a massive ball of light setting fire into the sky, the day burning with colours until the end.  

“Arthur!” hollered Alfred. “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!”

“Alfred!”

They called each other’s name as they splashed water at each other and laughed and laughed.

That evening, they went home wet and shivering in their shirts, but they didn’t care.  

* * *

Feliciano and Lovino’s backyard was busy with their friends playing volleyball, sunbathing, and drinking. As the others indulged on this lazy afternoon, Francis and Antonio occupied themselves by the grill, making barbecue for everyone.  

Alfred got himself a mojito that Mathias mixed, and sat beside Arthur who was sipping orange juice.

“What’s your favourite thing to do in the UK?” asked Alfred.

Arthur pushed his sunglasses against the bridge of his nose and lay back on his elbows. “Hmm, let’s see,” he said. “I really like going to music festivals. Reading and Leeds, Glastonbury… they’re all _wicked_. You go there and party with thousands of people, it’s awesome. Oh and I also like going to Bristol for the hot air balloon festival…”

Alfred was studying his face as he talked, his blue eyes brighter under the afternoon light and his lips curled into a grin. Suddenly feeling self-conscious and awkward, Arthur looked the other way, pretending something very interesting had caught his eye.

“The UK sounds like a really fun place. I should visit you sometime,” said Alfred. “But first, you’ll have to teach me how to speak British.”

“We speak English, you wanker!”

Alfred giggled, satisfied by Arthur’s annoyed remark. “Hey, let’s jump on the trampoline!”

Without waiting for Arthur’s response, he pulled him up. They bounced and bounced, trying to jump higher than the other each time. Then, they found themselves laughing again.

Recently, they found themselves laughing so hard that sometimes they thought they’d choke to death. They didn’t know they could laugh that hard on stupid, trivial things, but they did.   

They got tired after a while, slowing down and eventually lying on their back. Panting, they lay still. Alfred rested his head on Arthur’s chest as Arthur mindlessly played with his hair.

Alfred would usually urge Arthur to say something, claiming that silence made him anxious, but not this time. Wordlessly, they listened to their breathing and looked into each other’s eyes, smiling.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus, guys. I moved to Vietnam a few months back and had been very busy since then. Anyway, I hope I sent you lots of summer vibes with this update. If you want to continue, you know what to do. ;)


	6. The First Summer (vi.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Opening his eyes, Arthur saw Alfred in the distance, talking to strangers and laughing loudly, holding a bottle of beer. He and Alfred had been orbiting around each other for ages just like planets. Staying in their axis and never colliding._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of alcohol abuse and drug use. (And also borderline FRUK, if not considered platonic.)  
> \-----  
> Characters:
> 
> Allistor (Scotland), Ciaran (Northern Ireland), Gwil (Wales)
> 
> Ivo (Netherlands), Margaux (Belgium), Axel (Luxembourg), Héloïse (Monaco)

**THE FIRST SUMMER**

  
**vi.**

 

“Bloody _Alfred,_ ” said Arthur. He checked his watch. “Where is he?”  

He and Alfred were supposed to join their friends for a picnic at the state park. They should have left fifteen minutes ago. He knew Alfred always had the tendency to be late, but this was getting _ridiculous_. Why did he have to be such a twat and ruin their plans?

Matthew hung up and slipped his phone inside his pocket. His forehead was creased with confusion and disappointment. “He said he’s not coming.”

“What?” asked Arthur.

“I don’t know,” said Matthew, his eyebrows drawn together. “He said there’s something he needed to do with Kiku.”

Arthur huffed. “Well, he shouldn’t have kept us waiting. Let’s go, you lot.”

As usual, he climbed the back of Matthew’s pick up truck. Only this time, he was joined by Francis and Héloïse, who sat hugging their knees close to their chest. It didn’t take long for the summer breeze and the bright weather to improve his mood just the slightest. Soon, they were riding along the thick forest roads with their arms outstretched, smiling as the wind blew their hair.

Arthur occupied himself by helping around once they arrived at the state park. He was unloading the icebox from Matthew’s pick up truck when he noticed some of his friends were gawking at him.

“Nice guns, Arthur,” said Gilbert, grinning. He pointed at Arthur’s sleeveless shirt. “I didn’t know you were hiding those underneath your sleeves all this time. Were you always this buff?”

Arthur’s face heated up. It took him a moment to remember himself. “No, I started working out when I joined the football team in school. I just didn’t want to look like a skinny teenage boy anymore, so…” He shrugged to make it seem like it was no big deal.

“Damn, Arthur, you’re turning Gilbert gay now!” said Feliks.

The picnic started as they spread a red and white chequered blanket on the grass and lay the variety of food they had prepared. Mathias brought the flavours of his home country Denmark by sharing his summer marzipan cake with strawberries and cream. He also prepared open-faced rye sandwiches topped with shrimp, hard-boiled eggs, and crispy potatoes.

“They’re called smørrebrød. It’s a popular summer dish at home,” he said, and they all started digging in.

Most of Arthur’s friends were sipping canned beer or wine. He felt himself relax knowing nobody was pressuring him into drinking alcohol. He finished his orange juice and joined the others who were exploring the state park.

He went biking with Ivo and Axel, admiring the park’s thick oak forests and many little ponds. Sunlight filtered through the leaves. A sense of comfort and peace coiled in Arthur’s chest as they passed under the shade of the trees.

After that, he went to the great lake and kayaked with Feliciano and Ludwig. Watching the still and glimmering waters, Arthur decided he could lie on the kayak and stay there forever, maybe fold his arms under his head and gaze at the clear blue sky. Then, Antonio challenged him to a race. It was a very close fight at first, one moving forward every time the other took the lead. Arthur’s competitiveness prevailed eventually and earned him victory.

The late afternoon heat had settled into Arthur’s bones, making him even more exhausted from the morning’s activities. He lay on the grass and watched everyone around him. All of his friends were gathered around their own little circles. To the right, Mathias was teasing Lukas about liking his food too much. Next to them, Francis and Antonio were engaged in a conversation about cooking techniques. Feliks, Raivis, Edward, and Toris, were sitting under a pine tree, having a hyped up conversation about augmented reality.

Thoughts of Alfred slipped in his mind and made him wonder what they would be doing if he came along. He was so used to his presence, Arthur found himself looking for him every now and then. He couldn’t help but feel like he was walking on a tightrope and being in the middle of everything all the time.

His heart sank. He shouldn’t feel this way. He was surrounded by his friends who were lovely and nice and fun, but something felt missing and he didn’t know what.

A Kygo track blasted from the speakers, its volume only matched by Elizaveta, Héloïse, and Felix’s cheer. They stood up at once and danced like nobody was looking, swaying their arms in the air and moving with the beat.

“Come on, Arthur!” Elizaveta pulled him up. Her pastel pink hair bounced and fell perfectly into place, framing her pretty face. She smiled widely at him.

Unable to protest, he fought the confusion and smiled back. With a little hesitation, he joined in.

* * *

Being the household errand boy was probably one of the things Arthur detested as the youngest sibling. His brothers never grew out of ordering him around, asking him to retrieve things from random places around the house, or going to the supermarket to get some supplies they were too lazy to buy, like this morning. Let it be known, however, that he went out on his own will because he couldn’t stand staying in the house anymore.

He was having a lovely time biking around the town square until he found Alfred hanging out with people he’d never seen before. Walking beside him was a very tall bloke with silvery hair. Alfred had his arm slung around the shoulders of an attractive girl who had long, flowing hair and the toned figure of a runway model.

The girl said something-- she had a Russian accent-- that made Alfred smile with his crooked teeth.

Arthur must have caught Alfred’s eye because he turned to him, but only acknowledging his presence with a nod before disappearing into the corner with his friends.

What the hell was that all about?

Willing to ignore it ever happened, Arthur cycled home. He didn’t realise he was pedalling faster than he should until he almost slammed into a car. He hit the brakes to a sudden halt. He was lucky he wasn’t propelled forward. The driver honked loudly and seized him back into the present.

“Watch where you’re going, arsehole!” yelled the driver, and carried on.  

That evening, he sat by the window and read his book: _Stardust_ by Neil Gaiman. It was more like scanning words that didn’t make sense, really, as the words flew past him, but he flipped the pages anyway. Raindrops tapped on the glass, accompanied by the occasional grumbling of thunder.

His phone chimed as Ciaran called him for dinner.

_hey wanna hang out tomorrow? we can play rugby or sth. just the 2 of us._

It was from Alfred. His chest tightened upon reading the words as this morning’s flashbacks stabbed his mind. He stared at his screen for a moment, running his thumbs across it, and flipping his phone in his hands. He waited until after dinner to reply:

_Okay._

He clicked send, holding on to the fact that he and Alfred were still friends.

* * *

Alfred was thirty minutes late. He had beaten his own record. Arthur checked his watch again for the second time that minute— it was almost noon and it was too bloody hot. He felt like he was going to be burnt into a crisp standing outside the food mart where they were supposed to meet. Where was _he_?

Annoyance bubbled in Arthur’s chest as he whipped out his phone to ring Alfred.

It kept ringing and ringing and ringing, but he wasn’t answering. He tried ringing him thrice, but he got more annoyed every time he heard Alfred’s voicemail.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he mumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket.

Just as when he decided to cycle home, he saw Matthew riding his bicycle across the street. Arthur was pleased he could distinguish the twin brothers from afar, or else he would have embarrassed himself from berating the wrong person.

“Matthew,” he called him.

“Oh hey, Arthur!” said Matthew, flashing a sunny grin that looked awfully familiar. “I’m on my way to Ivo’s. Wanna come?”

“Thanks Matt, but I’m supposed to meet Alfred,” he said. “He’s not answering his phone, though. Do you know where he is?”

“Sorry, Arthur, I don’t know where he is,” said Matthew. “He wasn’t there when I left home.”

“Right,” said Arthur. He bit his inner cheek as a thought crossed his mind. “Does he play rugby?”

“What?” Matthew blinked. “He hasn’t played rugby all his life. Why?”

“Nothing.”

Then, Arthur’s hands were very cold. He was suddenly feeling so stupid and lost, and he just wanted to take his bicycle and disappear and never come back to Cape Blue Fin.

“You know, Arthur,” said Matthew, wringing his hands. There was a look in his eyes that said he wanted to say something that he couldn’t express into words. “It’s not the first time that Alfred’s bailed out of a plan….”

Arthur sighed. “It’s fine with me if he couldn’t come, but he should’ve let me know at least. It isn’t difficult to call or send a message, is it?”

Matthew frowned. He opened his mouth and hesitated.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this,” he said after a moment, “but I’ll feel terrible if I keep this to myself. Alfred isn’t always what he seems… He often needs space and there’s no telling when he needs to be on his own, so he lies and makes shit up to get out of situations.”

“That doesn’t excuse him from being an arsehole, does it?” said Arthur. He unclenched his fists. He could feel his palms stinging where his nails had dug.

“No, it doesn’t.” said Matthew, chewing on his lower lip. For a moment, Arthur felt sorry about making him anxious. “Listen, I’ll try and talk to him about this—”

“No, it’s fine,” said Arthur, his tone sharper than he intended. He took a breath to steady himself. “Really, Matt. Thanks anyway.”

That being said, he turned away and got on his bicycle. Matthew’s words echoed in his mind. It might be one way to explain Alfred’s recent behaviour, but he was being _unfair_. Why would he invite Arthur in the first place if he wasn’t planning to come?

He shook his head and counted backwards from ten to one. He couldn’t even bother to text him or scold him. It was best to ignore his existence just like what he was doing to Arthur.

Cycling aimlessly at full speed, his surroundings blurred, and the wind howled against his ears. He went home late, sweating, his legs aching, and his chest heaving. He didn’t hear a word from Alfred for the rest of the night.

* * *

The next morning, Arthur and his brothers were having breakfast on the porch. He couldn’t talk in the mornings, especially before breakfast, so he sat with his chin resting on his hand, contented listening to the waves, and inhaling the fresh ocean breeze.  

“We’re gonna go whale watching today and have lunch with some friends. Wanna join us?” said Gwil. He tied his wavy, neck-length hair into a bun. His preferred hairstyle made him look more matured than he really was. It pleased him whenever people think he was the oldest sibling.

“No, thanks,” replied Arthur, spearing his sausage.

They weren’t in primary school anymore when they’d tell Arthur to find them if he didn’t have anybody to eat with at lunch. He couldn’t always hang out with his brothers whenever he had nobody to hang out with. That was just pathetic.  

“Father called last night,” said Allistor. “Said he’d pick us up on the 20th.”

There really was no need to pick them up. The four of them were already capable of travelling by themselves, but that was their father’s way of spending time with them. Maybe they’d spend a few days together and see some sights around town before they’d go back to DC.

“You have days to spare in DC, don’t you, Lu?” asked Ciaran, scratching his sunburnt neck. He was probably the most freckly among the four of them, which worked in his favour because it attracted ladies.

“Yeah, I fly back to London on the 29th,” replied Arthur.

“Lucky sod,” said Gwil. “Ciaran and I have to get back to uni immediately, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Ciaran, sipping his coffee.

“Bummer,” said Arthur and rose from his seat. “Right, I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you going?” asked Allistor.

“On a date.”

His brothers raised their eyebrows and exchanged glances.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” asked Ciaran.

“Is it Alfred?” asked Gwil, his eyes glinting with interest.

Arthur scrunched his face like his brother offered him a snot-flavoured ice cream. “ _No._ He’s a knob.”

“Okay,” said Ciaran, shrugging and leaning against his chair.

“Let us know how it goes when you come back, Lu.” Gwil winked.

“And don’t forget to text what time you’ll be home,” said Allistor. “Or Ciaran will panic and tell Father, and the entire federal police will be looking for you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Right.”

He bolted upstairs and had an indulgent warm shower. Feeling like dressing up nicely, he picked a black button-down shirt to go with his skinny jeans. He grabbed his book. Before leaving, he checked his reflection in the mirror and ruffled his hair a bit to make it look more casual.

He ran downstairs and hollered from the dark hall. “I’m going!”

“Don’t forget to use protection!” One of his brothers hollered back. His money was on Gwil.

He clicked his tongue. “Yeah, sure.”

He walked to the bus stop and waited for about ten minutes until it arrived. Last night while biking around town, Arthur reckoned it would be a lovely idea to see the neighbouring towns. He was curious about what they looked like and how different they were from Cape Blue Fin, and so he took the chance to explore alone. He sat by the window and read his book as the bus passed by the stretch of white picket-fenced houses and thick pine forests.

He hopped off when he was three towns away. It was perfect. The small buildings and the houses looked similar as the other East Coast towns he’d seen except this one was more laid-back and far away from the eyes of Cape Blue Fin.  

He walked around for a bit and went to a café that caught his eye. He ordered an ice-blended hazelnut coffee, sat outside, and continued reading his book. He had a feeling he could finish it today.

The weather wasn’t as harsh as the previous days. Yes, it was still humid, but it was a bit cloudy and windy, which was good for strolling and admiring the muted summer scenery. Trees rustled in the background as people sat outside together and talked in low voices. Arthur pressed his back against the chair and let the fresh breeze fill his lungs.

When he said he was going on a ‘date’, he meant he was going on a date with himself, and it was something he’d always done. In Tokyo, in DC, in London, and all the other cities he’d visited. He believed he could never run out of something to admire in every city. And as he appreciated each of them, he also took the chance to fall in love with his own solitude. It was important for him to enjoy his own company because it cleared his mind and helped him be at peace with himself.

He strolled around the park next and found a bench by the small lake. He opened his book immediately— he was only one chapter away from finishing it. Bird song filled the air, the leaves of willow trees dancing in the wind. A ginger tabby cat found him and kept him company, meowing and nuzzling his legs.

“Come here,” said Arthur, lifting the cat and putting it on his lap. Brushing his fingertips against its soft fur, he resumed reading.

Soon, the sun was setting over the lake. The calm waters reflected the sky’s soft pastel shades and the silhouettes of the trees. The cat stretched and hopped off the bench to go home, perhaps, and Arthur thought he should do the same. He gave the lake one last look before heading to the bus station and ending his lovely day.

* * *

“So we’ll see you in DC before you fly to London?” Héloïse asked Arthur.

Francis and Arthur stood close beside her after they noticed some boys at the drive-in theatre were leering at her, ready to strike back anytime as they had always done before. Francis was the one to catcall them back, saying something that would make them feel extremely uncomfortable like _damn boy look at that body!_ , whilst Arthur was the one to curse them until they ran away out of fear.  

“Yep,” said Arthur.

“Yaaay!” cheered Héloïse, draping her arms around Arthur and squeezing him with excitement. “We’re gonna haunt the streets of DC again just like old times!”

“Yes, we are.” Arthur grinned, letting Héloïse’s excitement flow into his system.

Having arrived at the drive-in earlier than most people, the three of them and the rest of their friends had time to spare before _The Parent Trap_ played. Gilbert, Mathias, and Ivo were already munching on the wood-fired pizzas they ordered. Elizaveta was teaching Feliciano a few chords on her ukulele. Héloïse excused herself and challenged Axel to a game of Crazy Eights.

Arthur stayed with Francis, talking and smoking outside his Chrysler convertible. He didn’t notice when their conversation slipped to French. Sometimes when they were alone, he and Francis spoke in French— gone were the days when Arthur could bully Francis into speaking English all the time as both of them could speak each other’s language fluently now.

Arthur couldn’t complain because it was familiar. Comfortable. He’d never really lost grip on the language as it was the first ‘foreign’ language he learned. He could remember speaking it at home with his parents and his brothers as soon as he learned how to speak. And there were times when he and his brothers would speak it between the four of them, out of habit and nostalgia.

“Hey guys,” said Matthew, balancing a pizza box in his hands. “You want some pizza? Those morons started eating them as soon as we got here, there won’t be anything left soon.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Francis, getting a slice.

Arthur also got one and shoved it into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred and Kiku chatting on the back of the twins’ pick-up truck.  

“ _Ça va, Matthew?_ ” asked Francis. He took another drag from his spliff and leaned against the car door.

“ _Oui, ça va,_ ” replied Matthew.

Ever since Matthew told Francis he wanted to be fluent in French, Francis found time to let Matthew practice his native language and it was going very well so far. Matthew’s speaking skills were impressive— despite the too-soft American vowels and the words curling at the ends, he spoke it with ease.  

They talked like they would in English, waving their hands animatedly, and laughing on occasion.

_“—et j’ai dit ‘Non, non, non. C’est comme pisser dans un violon!’”_ said Matthew.

Francis and Arthur burst into laughter. Stealing the spliff from Arthur’s mouth, Francis put it between his lips. Arthur could feel Alfred gazing at them.

_“Ah, Matthew, tu es trop drôle!”_ said Arthur.

_“Oui, il est trop drôle.”_ Francis smiled at Matthew and patted his shoulder like a proud older brother would.  

Then, a loud _BANG_ resonated across the parking lot. They turned their heads to the source of the sound and found Alfred standing over a toppled the icebox, broken ice and bottled drinks on the ground. It was likely that he dropped it while carrying it from the back of the pick-up truck, but whatever it was, the damage was done.

“Alfred!” exclaimed Elizaveta out of shock.

He scratched his head and let out an awkward laugh. “Oops, sorry.”

* * *

Electronic music thumped on the walls of Ivo and Axel’s house that night. Arthur’s veins hummed with energy that was a little bit more than he could contain. There were about fifty people drinking and dancing and laughing— most of them friends of the hosts and strangers to Arthur.

“Hey, Arthur! Let’s dance!”

A girl he met earlier grabbed his arm and pulled him to the sitting room where everyone was dancing. He already forgot her name, but he danced with her.

The speakers blew and the people bounced with the music, throwing their hands up in the air, their hair whipping about their face. Lights blinked from red to blue to purple and to red again. With a smile on their face and a glass of mixed drinks in their hand, everyone burned the night away.  

The party had started for Arthur long before he even arrived at his friends’ house. He hadn’t stopped drinking since he had his hands on a bottle of vodka that morning. It was something he’d stolen from Gilbert’s stash a few parties ago, which he’d saved inside his closet for ‘emergencies’. Just as he’d done countless times before, he transferred the alcohol to a tall water bottle and indulged on it, sipping once in a while as he wandered around Cape Blue Fin alone until he joined his friends for the real party.

He excused himself from the dance floor and slipped inside the bathroom. His body was thrumming with too much adrenaline and his heart pounded in his chest; he didn’t know what to do with himself. He drummed his tingling fingertips on the sink and breathed in and out.

His vision blurred. His hands were cold and clammy with sweat, his legs about to crumble under his weight. The air thickened with each breath he took, filling his lungs with crippling dread. And his chest… His chest burned so much, it hurt to _breathe_. It was only a matter of time before he could combust.

Running his fingers through his dishevelled hair in desperation, he opened the cabinet and searched for pills: another old habit he was yet to break. He took his time looking at the variety and found common pills like antihistamines, Benadryl, and even some benzos and Ambien. But before he could decide and grab one bottle, a harsh knocking on the door startled him. He closed the closet in a hurry and rushed outside.

“Arthur! There you are!” said Antonio. He patted his shoulder and offered him a spliff.

“Cheers,” said Arthur, taking it.

“There’s more in the kitchen if you want,” replied Antonio, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and leaning very close to him. He smelled of weed, sunshine, and tequila.

He returned to the party after rolling a stick with Antonio. He occupied himself by talking to the others, getting to know them in between smoking and drinking. The boys and the girls bantered with him, asking questions and laughing at his witty remarks and offering him a light.  

After a while, his chest and his head felt very light. He couldn’t stop smiling and he saw some things he might have imagined (he swore he saw Matthew and Ivo snogging in a dark corner, but it could be his brain playing tricks on him). He danced and bounced and sang loudly with them, letting his London party boy come out naturally. He heard the sound of his own laughter, but it seemed distant as though he was underwater.

Arthur was having so much fun with his new friends that he let them come close to him. Very close that they could touch and kiss him.

“Oh Arthur, you’re so hilarious!” said Olivia (or was it Christine?) before she grabbed his face and smashed their lips together. He laughed and kissed her back until both of them were giggling and sharing spit. They sighed and smiled as they pulled apart.

Opening his eyes, he saw Alfred in the distance, talking to strangers and laughing loudly, holding a bottle of beer. He and Alfred had been orbiting around each other for ages just like planets. Staying in their axis and never colliding.  

It could have been a trick of light, but he believed he’d met Alfred’s eyes for a second. The music was too loud to hear what Alfred and his friend was talking about, but he kept flirting, not knowing he was leaning back and almost breaking a vase behind him.

“Oh my god! That was close!” said the girl, and they laughed sheepishly.

Arthur smirked and he jogged up the stairs. The noise faded once he stepped on the top landing. He sighed with relief as he rested his arms on the balcony railing, his shoulders slumping.

“Alright, Kirkland?”

He jumped at the sound of Francis’s voice. His chest tightened upon realising he almost lost his grip on his whiskey bottle. The fucking frog.  

“What do you want?” He asked.

“Oh nothing. Just checking up on you,” said Francis. “Come to think of it, you do seem like having fun dancing and kissing girls.” He winked.

“Well, I am drunk. Too bad I’m still a bender, eh?” said Arthur.

Francis chuckled. After a moment, he said, “You’re the fucking life of the party when you’re not sulking. You know that, don’t you?”

“Fuck off,” said Arthur, and passed his half-empty bottle to Francis.

“How come you and Alfred aren’t hanging out anymore?” he asked as though he’d been waiting for a long time to say it.

Arthur opened his mouth to protest— to react— or say something, but no words came out. It took him a moment to think of something. “I— er—… He sucks the life out of me, that twat. It’s exhausting! Should I hang out with him all the time? Honestly!”

He hoped it was enough to close the topic. Talking was taking so much effort.   

Francis twisted the whiskey bottle in his hands and took a long swig. “It’s a bit like DC again, huh?” he said. “Everyone wants to know Arthur Kirkland, his secret boyfriends, the secret parties they go, where they disappear into the night to do secret things…”

“Bloody hell, Bonnefoy,” said Arthur, eyeing him mockingly. “Are you jealous?”

Francis smiled, but he had a sad look on his face. It was the same one he would give Arthur whenever he was winning in his game of self-destruction. Instead of giving a sarcastic response, he pressed his lips on Arthur’s cheek.

Immediately, Arthur made a disgusted face and wiped the spot with the back of his hand. “What was that for?”

“ _Fais attention à toi, s’il te plaît,_ ” said Francis, and he ghosted back to the party.

* * *

Arthur had been reading the same sentence for ages. When he heard the muffled voices outside the bathroom door, he was suddenly aware of the rain pounding against the window and of the cigarette stick burning very close to his fingers. He put it out on the ash tray sitting on the rug by the tub.

He blinked. His eyes scanned the pages of the new book that was spread on top of the dry islands of his knees and realised he hadn’t really gone far with the story. The water had lost its warmth, the bubbles nearly gone, and his skin was pruned. He gazed outside the window again, finding the grey blur of the sky and the ocean, and wondered how long he’d been soaking in the tub. Time seemed to freeze inside the bathroom.

The muffled voices grew louder, closer.

“—he’s been there for an hour—”

“—he could be drowning—”

“—he’d do no such thing—”

“—Jesus Christ, just knock already!”

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Lu?”

He sat upright in surprise, creating small tsunamis on the water’s surface. “Yeah?”

“I made fish and chips,” said Gwil.  

“Alright, I’ll be down in a minute.”

After finishing his bath, he ran to his room, threw his book on the bed and got dressed, putting on a tattered oversized shirt and boxer shorts. He ran down the stairs, drying his hair with a towel.   

His brothers were mildly bullying each other on the porch when he found them, smoking whilst sharpening their banter.

“Ah there he is!” said Gwil.

“Alright, Captain?” asked Allistor.

“Gwil reckoned you fell asleep on the bath again,” said Ciaran.  

“What time is it?” asked Arthur.

“It’s time for dinner,” replied Ciaran, and stood up to get the food from the kitchen.

The smell of fish and chips wafted across the porch. Allistor and Gwil dug into them as soon as the dishes were on the table. Arthur, still feeling lethargic from his bath, waited for them to finish and took what was left.

He munched on the fish, savouring the crunchy breadcrumbs and the soft cod. His brothers used to do it beer-battered but not anymore. They only baked them these days, but Arthur still enjoyed them. He dipped some carrot sticks on what seemed to be a pea, broccoli, and spinach purée, Gwil’s favourite kind.  

As hunger bloomed inside his stomach, he took one bite after another. And another and another. He didn’t realise how quickly he was eating until his brothers starting giving him looks. He slowed down a little before they could say anything.

Whatever. He was relieved to have some food inside him. This might have been his first meal that day. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was he’d stayed in his room all day, reading in bed because he couldn’t be bothered to do anything. He wouldn’t even check his bloody phone.  

“This is _soooo_ good, mate!” said Ciaran, clawing on some more chips. “You’ve never been a good cook until you had a girlfriend cooking for you.”

“Shut up,” said Gwil.

“Why don’t we play cards?” asked Ciaran after they cleared the dinner table. “You know, the massive ones Allistor got from the dollar store the other day.”

“Loser gets to be slapped by cards,” suggested Gwil.  

Allistor snorted. “Right, we all know Gwil’s gonna be the loser!”

They gathered around the coffee table whilst Allistor brought the cards that were bigger than Arthur’s textbooks. Ciaran shuffled them excitedly. Sitting between him and Gwil, Arthur started slipping away from the moment and retreated inside his head. He subconsciously humoured his brothers as they laughed and made fun of each other.

After two rounds, he excused himself, saying he was going to bed early. He simply couldn’t stand to sit there any longer.

“Aw, come on Lu! Stay for one more round!” said Gwil.

“Can’t. My head hurts,” he said.

Allistor, Ciaran, and Gwil exchanged looks.

“Alright, off to bed,” said Allistor. “There’s paracetamol in the bathroom if you need some.”

“It’s quite alright. Cheers.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Arthur?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just have to sleep this off. Good night, everyone.”

He jogged up the stairs and shut his bedroom door. Not bothering to turn on the light, he sat by the foot of his bed and watched the night sky and the beach, finding comfort in the dark and the whispering of ocean waves. The rain had stopped and the moon was shining like a white disk in the sky.

He let his mind wander outside the window, across the bright night sky, floating in the humid summer air. He thought about his adventures this season, of the heat and the excitement. Iced Starbucks and loud, obnoxious laughter. Bright blue eyes reading him—

His fist clenched, his nails digging into his palms.  

Alfred was someone he could never understand. His absence puzzled him. He was summer personified— always surrounded with friends, up for any adventure, and full of laughter. He wasn’t a gloomy winter day— the type of person who’d want to be alone, locked up in a dark room, brooding or sulking— that was Arthur.   

Why did he want to be best mates with him and suddenly leave him hanging?

A dull ache sliced across the side of his head, making him groan. He had to stop thinking about Alfred. His room was spinning around him, his eyelids becoming heavy. He could lie on the floor and sleep the moment he shut his eyes.

Slowly, he got up, leaning against the bed for support.

“Blast it all!” He exclaimed into a pillow. Satisfaction filled his chest as he said it out loud, but it was not loud enough for his brothers to hear downstairs.  

Pulling his shirt over his head, he tossed it to the floor and took off his boxer shorts. He lay in bed in a foetal position, burying himself under the blanket and feeling its fabric against his naked skin.

Rolling over, he found a framed group photo on the nightstand. It was the one they took before Margaux left. Such happy faces they wore, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, the camera clicking mid-laughter. He studied each face in the photo. All of them were strangers except for Francis and Héloïse, whom he’d known only a couple of years.

In a few months, once Arthur had set foot in England again, they’d all be a distant memory and eventually, he’d forget about them.

They wouldn’t matter. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I love reading your comments. :) See you next update.


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